


a taste of sunshine

by 0neType, LyraLV



Series: a taste of sunshine [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale, Alternate Universe - XTale, Banter, Begging, Blackrom, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Clothing Kink, Come Marking, Comeplay, Confessions, Crying, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Edging, Exhibitionism, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Genital Stepping, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kissing, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, Masochism, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Penetrative Sex, Pet Names, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Romance, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Smut, Sounding, Table Sex, Tentacles, Undertale Multiverse, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Nightmare claims Dream as his own and makes sure everyone knows it.Killer and Cross want in anyways.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💛🖤
> 
> Buckle in y'all.

Dream can deny it all he likes, but Nightmare knows he has an exhibitionist streak. Why else would he fold so easily every time Nightmare dragged him out into the open? Why else would he put up a token protest, half-hearted words instead of physical resistance? Dream’s stronger than he looks, Nightmare knows that from experience, but instead of a fight, Nightmare is always greeted with a flush to his bones and an excitement in his eyes.

It’s also the only thing that explains how quickly his brother gets wet, breathless and panting before Nightmare has gotten so much as a finger in him.

“Your cunt is dripping.” He grins, using his thumbs to spread Dream’s pussy open. His brother twitches at the contact, moaning. Nightmare leans into him a little more, purposefully using his weight to slide Dream further along the table and watching in amusement as he scrambles for purchase on the smooth marble surface.

“Having trouble?”

Sweat beads along Dream’s skull, and even with his brother facing away, the bright yellow flush is distinct from where it fans down his throat and disappears beneath his scarf. Heat and anticipation radiate from him as he trembles against the table. Hips futilely pushing against Nightmare’s, Dream seems unaware of the little grinding motions he makes while he tries to relieve some of that tension.

The first traces of slick coat Nightmare’s thumbs. Dream’s ragged exhale is loud in the otherwise quiet room when Nightmare curls them, spreading him open even wider. His walls clench around the tips of Nightmare’s phalanges like he’s trying to drag him in deeper to no avail.

It sends a bolt of simmering heat right to his groin, cock hardening in attention. It strains against his shorts and Nightmare holds back a shiver as he thinks of spearing Dream open around it. Instead of following through, he continues to tease his brother, rubbing his thumbs slowly up and down along the sensitive opening of his magic.

“What was that?” He asks, despite knowing Dream hasn’t been able to get a word in past his arousal in a while. “Did you want to stop?”

The whine that escapes Dream is pathetic, desperation and want layered within a single sound. 

“Nightmare,” he pleads, voice hitching. As if that alone will grant him what his dripping cunt is begging for. Dream curls his hands into fists and pants wetly against the marble table. Shaking as if he’s trying to restrain the words in his throat, he makes another pitiful moan when Nightmare doesn’t pause in his meticulous rubbing along Dream’s pussy. The sensation must feel maddening.

Then, very softly, as if he’s merely mouthing the word, Dream utters in a broken, needy tone, _ “Please.” _

Nightmare sucks in a sharp breath.

There’s something about Dream begging that always gets to him like nothing else does. It makes his throat tight, his breath quicken. There’s a flood of desire following every breathless plea that makes Nightmare want to take his brother apart, piece by piece, baring him open for the world to see, debauched and thoroughly used.

He’ll give Dream what he wants, but not before marking him as his and his alone.

Nightmare’s cock twitches in its confines and he shifts his stance to ease the pressure a touch. He rubs a little more firmly with his thumbs before sinking the right one inwards, relishing the low, desperate moan that elicits from Dream. When he drags it out and off of his brother entirely, Dream whimpers in a way that makes Nightmare unconsciously jut his hips closer to his glistening cunt. He resists the urge to plunge his cock into Dream immediately, instead slipping his slick-covered thumb into his mouth and savouring his brother’s eagerness.

It would be stupid to say that the taste of him makes Nightmare want to fall to his knees and pay tribute with his tongue, but it’s a damn near thing.

“Fuck, Dream,” he whispers, just loud enough to make sure his brother hears, “I’m gonna make you scream my name.”

His brother thrusts back against him in response, catching Nightmare off guard as Dream’s dripping cunt brushes along his cock. He hisses at the feeling, but the noise is drowned out by Dream’s own moan. His body begs where words fail him, and as Nightmare attempts to still his hips once more, Dream grinds his clit against the table.

It’s utterly shameless. Hedonistic in a way that Dream rarely displays himself. And yet the sight is almost a demand, his brother choosing to seek his own completion if Nightmare doesn’t give it to him.

Perhaps it’s intended as a taunt, or maybe Dream has truly lost himself to the pleasure. Regardless, he won’t be finding it unless Nightmare chooses to give it to him. The whimpered protest when he tightens his hold on his brother’s hips ensures that Dream is well aware of the fact. His shoulders quake under the strength Nightmare exerts to keep him still, and Dream’s breath catches.

“Those aren’t idle words, brother. You’re not allowed to come yet. Not without my name on your tongue and my cum in your cunt.”

The foyer is silent and seemingly empty save for the two of them. The split staircase on either side curves around and over them, a small enclosure in the open. It’s not enough to hide them completely, not when Dream is splayed out over the table like this, pushing the decorative centerpiece out of the way, but Nightmare is unconcerned. He doesn’t much care if someone sees them. They’d be overheard here anyway. In fact, Nightmare had chosen the location precisely for that reason.

He intends to let every inhabitant of the castle know just who Dream belongs to. The slight cover is a distraction to soothe his brother’s worry. Just a little something to keep Dream from looking into it too closely. His brother will understand—they've discussed it before. They just hadn't decided on exactly when Nightmare would put his plan into action.

Especially since it's one he has multiple facets to.

“Don’t forget,” he croons as he pulls his cock free of his shorts, stroking it quick before grabbing it from the base and slowly sliding it up against Dream’s slickness, “You belong to _ me_.”

“Hn—N-Nightmare,” Dream gasps, straining beneath him. The need in his voice is heavy, and there’s no friction in the wet glide of his cunt against Nightmare’s cock. 

Still, ever the would-be saint, Dream struggles to express his flimsy uncertainty, saying, “We should... we need to move. Someone could hear—”

The click of Dream’s jaw clenching shut is audible as he bites down on the groan that would otherwise echo in the open room. Pinned against the table, he must be more than aware of every loud breath, every moan that could easily draw attention. The obscene sounds of wet magic fill the heated air as Nightmare rocks himself against Dream’s slick. 

Dream hangs his head between his trembling arms, high, reedy breaths slipping into the open beyond his control. He’s already fucked up from so little, falling apart under the lightest touch. 

He tries again. “Ni—_ahh_—Night, w-wait—”

Even as he protests, he shifts his legs open wider, a clear invitation to draw Nightmare as close as possible and give him what he craves.

The image of Dream like this is intoxicating. He can’t imagine anything much better than having his brother open to him, willingly offering himself up to be used. There’s an inky, awful coiling in his corrupted soul that yearns to take advantage of that. A part that wants to make Dream break and cry and regret ever dropping his defenses so foolishly. But it’s kept tempered and restrained by the sickly sentimental side of him that remembers the centuries spent without Dream by his side and mourns the loss of time.

He’s not in the business of dwelling in positivity, but he’ll make an exception for Dream.

Nightmare takes a half-step closer, enough that his cock slides a little too far with the next pass over Dream’s lips, slipping partly in. His brother chokes on a wet sound, phalanges scraping against the table as he makes tight little fists with his trembling hands. 

“Whoops,” Nightmare says, entirely unapologetic.

He pulls back enough to make room for a tentacle to swipe through the fresh wetness dripping out of Dream. He uses it to play with the opening of his cunt, kneading the area diligently and flicking the appendage’s tapered end close enough to his brother’s clit that Dream’s whole body flinches. Smirking, Nightmare withdraws, and Dream makes a helpless noise of protest that only serves to make his cock swell further.

Nightmare slithers his tentacle carefully under Dream’s body, working through the space beneath his ribs and out again to stop in his field of view. It’s coated with his brother’s own slick magic mixed with Nightmare’s black ooze, liquid pattering off it in soft, muted droplets. “Here. Why don’t you be a good boy for me and suck on this for a bit? It should help keep you quiet.”

He’s not acquiescing to Dream’s half-hearted request, but this should keep him moderately distracted from his surroundings. As Nightmare slides the tentacle closer, urging him to open his mouth, Dream leans away as much as he can from the appendage and the irrefutable evidence of his arousal.

“No, I can’t. It’s—”

He doesn’t get to finish his complaint as the tentacle shoves past his teeth and settles on his tongue. Dream’s mouth waters around the appendage, tasting his own desire and Nightmare’s magic, and coating the tentacle with his saliva. A soft pleading noise is muffled by the tentacle, but as Nightmare slips it further into his mouth, flirting with the back of his throat, Dream moans around it. His head tips to the side in pleasure to gift Nightmare with a truly depraved sight that is most befitting of his brother. He teasingly curls the tentacle along the roof of his mouth.

Dream’s arms slip against the table, leaving tracks of sweat as he attempts to regain purchase along the unforgiving surface. The motion drags his pussy against the tentacle under him, providing his clit with sudden relief at the touch. Dream’s surprised moan is loud and gratified, hardly masked by the magic filling his mouth.

A low, gutted yearning lodges in Nightmare’s soul at the sound. There’s something uniquely pleasurable about his brother making noises so filthy. Knowing he’s the one who’s undone Dream’s sunny disposition and made him yield, made him debase himself in lust for release... it’s a high unmatched by most anything. A stray thought in his head wonders just how far he could drive this, how much could he make Dream do before he hit his limits. But while the idea of pushing Dream further is an interesting one, Nightmare will have to bookmark edging him for later.

Right now he has a point to make.

Nightmare presses into Dream’s cunt smoothly, all at once. The build-up makes it easy to glide in fully, though his brother tenses regardless as Nightmare’s full girth enters him. He gurgles something indistinct against the tentacle in his mouth, and the motion vibrates up the length of it. Despite himself, Nightmare shivers at the feeling. He flexes the dripping appendage in retribution, satisfied by the way Dream chokes on it, squeezing him with his throat. Nightmare can see the way his sockets fill with tears, glazing over, soft and bleary.

“'_Can’t’ _isn’t what I want to hear out of you, brother dearest,” Nightmare teases, “Remember your instructions. If you want to come, it has to be while screaming my name.”

He uses another tentacle to wipe the tears away, gentle, pleased when Dream’s blush brightens at the touch. “Surely that’s not so difficult, hmm?”

Dream slurs out an indecipherable response. It doesn’t hide the desperation behind the incoherent words, though, and that’s good enough of a sign of acceptance for Nightmare. When he slowly thrusts into Dream, his brother’s fingers scrabble for something to grab onto as he rocks against the thick cock filling him. His cunt squeezes Nightmare tightly. A slight angle adjustment on the next thrust forces Dream’s arms to give out from bracing himself, and he sags against the marble. The tentacle in his throat slides deeper, and Dream coughs raggedly, chest heaving for air he doesn’t need.

Still, Nightmare is in somewhat of a gracious mood. He slips the tentacle free of Dream’s mouth to allow him to catch his breath, and on the next sharp inhale, Nightmare thrusts forward into his wet heat.

Dream’s shout echoes off the foyer walls. He doesn’t have a moment to think before the tentacle is shoved back in his mouth, and the subvocal noise he makes feels like it jostles through Nightmare’s magic.

Nightmare bites back a groan. He can’t fall prey to his desire to fill Dream up just yet. There’ll be plenty of time to enjoy the sight of his brother stuffed full and dripping around his cock later—the first step is to get him dazed enough to forget himself. It’s only then that Dream will let loose and cry out his name for everyone to hear.

In retaliation for almost making him lose control, Nightmare coils the thick part of the tentacle that lies under Dream’s body. It bumps up just enough to brush against the front his brother’s cunt. With sadistic delight, he has it writhe, making waves that press and rub at Dream’s clit, teasing it further. Dream’s lax body jolts like live-wire, life returning to his limbs as he grabs onto either side of the table. Nightmare rolls his hips, and Dream keens, closing his sockets and throwing his head back.

“Next time time I take this out…” He wiggles the tentacle still in Dream’s mouth. “...you have a job to do.”

Dream can’t speak, but Nightmare can feel the way his emotions spark in response. It’s a melody of desperation and submission and an unremitting desire to please. And lingering past it all, something unmentionable. Something Nightmare would rather remain unnamed for as long as he can help it. Still, he drinks it all down, sweet and bitter all together.

“I trust you won’t disappoint me.”

He receives a stifled moan in response. Dream grinds in tiny circles against the tentacle pressed between the lips of his cunt. Tempting as it may be to give him what he wants, there’s still that little flare of resistance in Dream’s soul that holds against total surrender to Nightmare’s demands. No matter. The longer Dream spends fretting over morals and maintaining face value in front of someone who’s long since seen past his veil, the greater the likelihood that the entire castle will know who Dream belongs to.

They still need to attract their audience, after all.

Dream’s thighs tremble as the tentacle continues to writhe against his clit. His pants are draped around his ankles, fabric stretched taut to accommodate the widening spread of his legs. His entire body shakes like a leaf under Nightmare’s careful attention. The tears that were once wiped from his cheeks have long since returned, and his flushed face is a lovely picture. It’s almost a shame not being able to fully appreciate the debauched expression on his brother’s face, but they can easily remedy that later. 

Given how greedily Dream’s throat works the tentacle in his mouth and how he presses into the thick base of it at his cunt, it’s no secret that he’ll be just as receptive and needy for more, especially after he’s a fucked out mess bent in half over the table. The pretty blush that’ll scald his face every time he looks at the innocuous piece of furniture from now on is something to look forward to.

While Dream is grinding down on the tentacle underneath him, Nightmare adds another to the mix. The tendril meanders its way up Dream’s femur to his pelvis and then settles on his sacrum. With careful precision, Nightmare makes it caress the edges of each of Dream’s sensitive holes, thin end circling them over and over as his brother twitches from the stimulation. 

Before Dream can adjust to the change, Nightmare slips in a third tentacle, this one wrapping around the exposed center of his spine. He hears and _ feels _Dream’s wet gasp as the appendage starts to stroke him languidly, hot breath stuttering along the tendril fucking Dream’s mouth. It’s evidently too much for his brother, his body trembling all over, the clatter of it loud against the solid marble of the table.

Dream is gorgeous like this, reduced to nothing but his barest elements. Nightmare can’t help the way his hips rock forward of their own accord, cock twitching in the wet heat of his brother’s soft cunt. He’d keep Dream like this forever if he could, his to touch, to fuck, to own. 

“Do you want to come, little brother?”

The answer is all too clear in the strained noises Dream makes around the tentacle and the way his cunt drips heavily with arousal. He’s near mindless in chasing that edge, so close to bliss that he must be able to sense it within reach. But part of the game is waiting to see how long Dream can last before he inevitably gives in to his brother. If there’s anything Nightmare has taught his brother over the course of their interludes, it’s that he has plenty of patience to spare when it comes to bringing Dream’s submission into the light.

His brother wears subservience so well. Judging by the way he attempts to simultaneously rut against the tentacle underneath him while squeezing around Nightmare’s cock, he’s ready. 

Nightmare removes the appendage from his mouth. Dream gives it a final suck before it’s pulled free, and Nightmare twitches at the feeling of his brother’s tongue lapping at the oozing tendril. He slips it a little off to the side just out of reach but still ready to stuff his brother’s throat again. The splatter of yellow saliva is prominent against the tapered end.

Dream takes a moment to regain his breath. Every wheeze verges on a moan, and the sound fills the foyer so beautifully. He seems unaware of how loud he’s become, or if he has, he’s forgotten his concern about remaining quiet. A long moment passes as Nightmare waits, watching his brother try to think through the delirious haze of need and want that racks every inch of his body.

After a final thin breath, Dream ducks his head and mumbles something into the bunched up scarf around his neck.

“What was that?” Nightmare asks, soft and low. It wouldn’t do to startle him now, not when they’re so close. He’ll coax the words out of Dream, little by little till he surrenders himself fully.

His words are muffled again, which simply won’t do. With greater gentleness than usual, Nightmare tilts Dream’s head back from the scarf and waits for him to repeat himself.

Dream’s eyes are clenched shut, face a lovely hue and his grip tight on the edges of the table. When he speaks, his voice is tight as if he’s fighting against the words on his tongue.

“I said I w-want to come, please.”

He pauses for another beat to swallow thickly, and then, in a tone that is undeniably begging, he rasps, “_Nightmare_.”

His breath catches. For a moment, it’s all he can do to keep himself from giving Dream exactly what he wants. His phalanges twitch on Dream’s hips, reflexive. He’s so pretty when he begs; so perfect when he’s wrecked and overwhelmed and still willing to believe in Nightmare’s mercy. But Nightmare has a plan that needs to been seen through. Dream knows the rules. If he wants to come, he has to follow them.

Still...

Nightmare takes a moment to readjust their positions. He slips out of his brother, making him choke back a sob of frustration. Nightmare shushes him, rubbing soothing patterns with his thumb along Dream’s ilium. With the help of his extra appendages, he carefully flips his brother over so that they’re face-to-face, Dream’s back pressed to the table. Like this, it’s easy to see how far gone his brother is, face streaked with tears and chest rattling with shallow, quick breaths.

There’s confusion behind the muddled, amorous look in his eyes. Nightmare continues to stroke his hip as he leans up and over Dream’s body.

Easy, quick, he presses a kiss to his brother’s open mouth. 

He slips his tongue in and tastes the desperation on him. Dream whines, surprised, but it only takes a second before he kisses Nightmare back with fervour, tongue colliding with his and arms wrapping around his neck. Nightmare takes his cock in hand and presses slowly back into Dream, swallowing down his brother’s moan as he pushes all the way into the warmth of his cunt. All the while, he keeps his eye trained on Dream, enjoying his brightening blush, his sweet little moans and the circles he makes with his hips as he grinds into Nightmare’s slow thrusts.

When he breaks away, Dream gasps for air like a drowning man, and Nightmare drops his forehead onto his brother’s to steady him. Once he’s sure he has Dream’s full attention, he frees a hand to reach up and stroke his cheekbone. Then, soft as ever, he says, “_Louder_.”

The command causes Dream to gape at him, eyelights blown wide. It’s beyond satisfying to see how just a single word can unravel his brother. Dream’s chest rises and falls unsteadily, but there’s no anxiousness on his tear-stained face. He can’t look anywhere else but at Nightmare who fills his vision, exactly as it should be. Having all of Dream’s undivided attention on him, as if Nightmare is the only important being in Dream’s world, is tremendously heady. Intoxicating. Dream stares at him with tender supplication in a way that bares his soft underbelly. 

Fuck. He’s so incredibly vulnerable like this.

His lower half shifts against the table, feet unable to fully scrape the floor in this position. The slight discomfort he must feel in his spine serves to add fuel to Nightmare’s arousal. As anticipated, his expression turns pinched, but he doesn’t utter a complaint.

Instead, Dream leans into Nightmare’s hand like the gesture grounds him, and his eyes flick down to Nightmare’s mouth. The sound of saliva pooling around Dream’s tongue is nearly audible, bringing with it a wave of smugness as Nightmare watches him.

Dream follows the light, encouraging touch on his cheekbone that directs his gaze back to his brother’s. As Nightmare waits, he’s almost startled by the emergence of a golden, viscous tongue that swipes across Dream’s teeth, and the hum that emits from his throat rings with true pleasure.

With hunger in his often deceptively innocent expression, Dream inhales shakily in the shared scant space between them. This time, his voice comes only a shade stronger, testing the words once more as he struggles to hide the tremor that betrays his overwhelming desire.

“Please... please let me come, N-Nightmare.”

A giddiness spreads through Nightmare’s core, a streak of positivity that makes him sick, though the grin stretches across his face regardless. He doesn’t flinch away, staring down at his brother’s form, unconditional submission achieved. He rewards the behaviour with another wet kiss, humming approval onto Dream’s tongue. To call his brother eager would be an understatement, his mouth moving rapidly against his own.

Finally, he has Dream right where he wants him.

Nightmare grabs tight onto his brother’s hips. Dream yelps into his mouth and Nightmare sucks on his tongue to distract him. With his tentacles, he grabs Dream by the femurs and suspends them in the air, spreading them wide on either side of his body. The open, vulnerable position makes Dream’s face go hotter under Nightmare’s touch, his brother’s blush radiant like sunshine. Nightmare doesn’t let him dwell on it.

He fucks into Dream roughly, breaking the kiss just in time to hear his brother cry out in pleasure. He repeats the motion, grinding his throbbing cock into Dream’s hot, wet cunt.

“Louder, Dream,” he repeats, smoothly moving another dripping tendril into place, this one positioned tantalizingly close to his brother’s clit. With each drop of viscous fluid next to his sensitive nub, Dream flinches and gasps, taking one stuttering breath in after another. “I want to hear you. I want _ everyone _ to hear you.”

There. No secrets now. Though Nightmare gets the feeling that there never really were. Dream has always had a way of knowing exactly what Nightmare’s thinking.

To his astonishment, his brother moans loud at Nightmare’s words, the sound laced with sudden need. Dream’s cunt clenches, his walls tightening around Nightmare deliciously as he thrusts into him.

“Ah—_hahn_—yes, yes, oh, Night, please, _ oh_—”

Dream’s cries become mindless babbling, begging for Nightmare to give him what his entire body aches for as his spine arches and he meets every one of his thrusts. There is no restraint in his voice now, loudly proclaiming his need in a way that is sure to be heard. The wet smack of magic only seems to heighten the pleasure as Dream writhes beneath him. His tears run unchecked down his face, nothing but ecstasy in his blown eyelights and slack jaw.

On a particularly rough thrust, Dream’s head thunks against the table with a rather painful noise that seems to go unnoticed. He’s near incoherent but the words spill out of him ceaselessly as he claws at his brother’s back.

“Nightmare, Night, oh please, let me c—please, I need—_ahn_!”

Satisfaction curls low within him, a job well done. Dream’s frantic, urgent pleas make him shiver as they echo through the foyer and beyond it, resonant and shameless. Let them hear. That was the goal, after all. Let them all truly comprehend how things stand. Dream belongs to Nightmare, every radiant and ravished inch of him. Nightmare doesn’t plan on ever letting him go.

With fluid, practiced motion, Nightmare slides a tentacle under his brother’s head, cradling him away from the solid stone. He drags the end of it partially into Dream’s slackened mouth—not enough to silence him, but just enough to keep it pried open. All the while, Dream is watching him with teary eyes and staggered breath, the tiny jittering of his body making his clit come into contact with the appendage still dripping close to it and forcing a whine out of him.

“That’s right, brother,” Nightmare whispers, a contrast to how loud every little sound from Dream is right now, “Let me use you.”

All at once, he fucks up into Dream and rolls his hips. His brother yells, hoarse, legs shaking where Nightmare’s tentacles still hold them spread apart in the air. “You were made for me.”

Each roll of his hips drags benediction from Dream’s throat, and his eyesockets squeeze shut, rapture heightening with every heavy promise Nightmare utters. 

“I—oh, _ Nightmare—_” Dream gasps deliriously.

“Your unmarked body, your tight cunt…” He trails a tendril up the length of Dream’s spine, further and further, until it rests right under his sternum, curling towards the left of his ribs. “...your untainted soul.” 

The slower his drawl, the faster his thrusts. Nightmare smacks his hips against Dream’s over and over, their magic slick and wet. His cock pulses as Dream squeezes around him and Nightmare rocks against him with abandon. He focuses on where they meet, eyeing the golden slick that tinges his cock every time he pulls back from his brother’s cunt. There’s a mix of black ink and purple precome smeared all over Dream’s pussy, wet and glistening, and Nightmare groans low at the evidence of their intimacy.

“No one can touch you,” Nightmare grunts, fucking him harder, grip tightening on his hips till he’s sure to leave bruises.

“You’re _ mine_, Dream.” At long last, he gives his brother what he wants, resting his lingering tentacle down onto Dream’s clit and alternating between rubbing it, firm and quick, and rolling and pinching the nub with a curl of his tendril. “You always have been.”

Dream cries out helplessly. He bucks his hips and tightens his hold on the back of Nightmare’s ribs, likely leaving bruises of his own. His moans and feeble pleas for more increase with every passing second, so close to crossing that edge, and Nightmare is more than willing to drag him there.

“Go on. Come for me, Dream.”

“Ah, _ hn_, it’s so—Night, I’m—”

His voice suddenly falters, and Nightmare quickens his pace. After a few final moments of riding that agonizing edge, Dream stiffens, and his scream rips through the air in breathless, irrevocable pleasure. He shakes under the force of his orgasm, clamping down on Nightmare and wailing at the euphoria that drowns out everything but the feeling of the tentacle rubbing his clit and the cock filling his pussy. Nightmare moans as he fucks Dream through it, slamming into him vigorously. 

Dream’s gratified cries soon turn into pained whines at the swift overstimulation that engulfs him. His arms grow weak around Nightmare, but he’s powerless to pull away. The burst of slick from his cunt adds to the mess that pools between their femurs. At the feeling of Dream attempting to shift his hips further up the table, Nightmare digs his fingers into his ilia and pulls him harshly into each thrust.

Then, finally, his tentacles grip Dream’s femurs tight and slam him down in time with Nightmare’s own tug on Dream’s pelvis. Nightmare stills with a muffled swear, panting as he fills his brother up with cum. Dream’s breath hitches, a tinny, oversensitive whine escaping him.

He thinks he hears Dream call his name, but when he looks up again, his brother’s sockets are closed as he gathers himself, mouth parted only to catch his breath.

Slowly, Nightmare lowers Dream’s femurs back down to the table and extricates his tentacles from around him. The one at his brother’s mouth strokes his cheek briefly, making Nightmare’s mouth quirk as Dream nuzzles into it before it retreats. When his brother is lying flat and unbothered, Nightmare slowly pulls out of him, keeping careful watch of the way Dream winces and sighs as he does so.

His eye flicks back down just in time to see the trail of golden and purple cum that drips steadily out of Dream’s cunt. Happiness hasn’t been in his grasp for a good long while, but there’s some dark, possessive part of him that’s content by what he sees. The tumultuous roiling in his soul is momentarily appeased. Things are all exactly as they should be.

Speaking of which.

Nightmare turns his head slightly to the side, enough so that his good eye can see the top of the stairs from his peripheral. He smirks. “We ought to clean up here and get back to our rooms… who knows who might turn up if we stay.”

The words aren't for Dream’s benefit.

In fact, they’re for the presence he can sense nearby; tense and wound up and more than a little excited. There’s another jumble of emotions broadcasting similar things from a little farther away, closed off in rejection. He’d know those auras anywhere.

Both are a veritable feast of sentiment for Nightmare to gather strength from.

He turns back to Dream, a rare, genuine, smile on his face. “Our audience will have to wait for its encore.”

The presence withdraws, and Nightmare leans forward to claim another kiss from his brother. Dream murmurs into it, soft and pleased.

Plan set into motion, Nightmare relaxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what even to say except that Lyra and I somehow ended up neck-deep in OT4 feels and this fic spawned as a result LMAO
> 
> Stay tuned for the smut-filled lead up to...
> 
> ... even more smut... 😂


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💗💜
> 
> Let the dick measuring contest commence.
> 
> (**Dubcon** warning for this chapter. Please check end notes for details.)

Killer whistles as he makes his way down the hall, flipping the knife in his hand over and over in a myriad of different patterns. He’s on a high, tense in a battle-ready sort of way, soul pounding with excitement. Every time he thinks of what he just overheard, his cock twitches in his shorts. He grins wider.

The brothers were probably still in the foyer, straightening themselves up. He’d have stayed to see things to completion but, heh, in a way they’d definitely already finished. Though the boss had featured pretty heavily in his private time theatre, Killer wasn’t going to complain about Dream guest starring in it. With filthy moaning like that, it was basically inevitable. Killer was going to be touching himself to the memory of that begging for weeks. 

Unfortunately, Nightmare had been pretty clear about wanting any voyeurs immediately gone at the end, so Killer had made his exit quick. That doesn’t mean he’s any less wound up though; doesn’t mean he’s not still looking for a little relief. In fact, that's exactly why he goes searching for his favourite recreational activity partner.

He kicks open Cross’s door with the flat of his left sole, putting his full weight in under the doorknob and jabbing at it with his knife for good measure. Killer doesn’t actually know if it’s locked but… better safe than sorry right? Regardless, it opens under the abuse, and Killer strolls in like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“Yo, Cross—you wanna fuck?”

The skeleton in question is kneeling on his bed with his skull between two pillows. “Get the hell out of my room.”

Killer twirls his knife along his phalanges with a grin.

“Sounds like a yes to me.” He kicks the door shut behind him. Not that he’d be opposed to having his own audience watch he and Cross fuck, but he’s pretty sure Dream and Nightmare are going to be spending their time cleaning up. Plus, Cross is a cagey bastard, so Killer is more likely to tempt him if he feels less… exposed. 

Cross doesn’t say anything. Even from here, Killer can see him trembling with arousal, a persistent and unsatisfied discomfiture in his bones. The top of Cross’s skull is dotted with sweat. He’s trying to ignore his need to the best of his abilities with little success, and Killer can almost smell just how far gone he is. 

That’s ok. Killer has always been a helpful guy, and Cross looks like he could use a, heh, hand.

For now, he ignores the heat in his own pelvis and shuffles forward, making sure his footsteps are loud. The tension in Cross’s shoulders increases the closer Killer approaches, eyelights following his every move. No doubt Cross can see the challenge in his easy grin. His wariness seems to spike as Killer leisurely closes the distance between them, and his sockets narrow in warning.

Cute.

Killer pulls up alongside the bed and pokes him in the shoulder. Cross’s glare sharpens with annoyance as he flinches away. Killer snickers.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck you,” Cross bites out. It does nothing to mask the strain in his voice. So utterly needy and precisely what Killer is looking for. He plans to blow off some steam, and if he plays his cards right, he’ll have Cross moaning beneath him shortly.

“That’s literally the whole reason I came in here, dude,” Killer says, putting one knee up on the mattress. Slow and steady isn’t really his style, but he’ll play the game Cross's way if it gets him what he wants. “I’m horny. Fuck me.”

Cross’s face is flushed purple, a pretty colour on him. Killer appreciates it more when he paints it on Nightmare, the hue a constant backdrop to the boss’s inky form, power and regality, but it’s not a bad look on the other skeleton either. Plus, on Cross he’ll be able to taste it thoroughly. He could run his tongue over the colour and revel in the flavour.

“You’re disgusting,” Cross snarls.

Killer shifts his weight onto the bed, pulling up his other leg and crawling towards Cross on all fours. “Guilty as charged.”

As he nears, he can clearly spot another bit of purple, glowing bright under the fabric of Cross’s shorts. His soul shivers, the target on his chest blinking erratically in different shades of red before stilling into its regular determination-bright tone. “But you’re not so different, huh?”

Cross’s flush deepens impossibly further. He sucks in a sharp breath and looks away. The lovely sheen of purple has traveled down his spine and chest, beckoning Killer to run fingers and tongue over the pretty bones. With the hue of Cross’s magic, it’s not hard to pretend otherwise, to imagine that it’s someone else before him, shuddering and needy and standoffish.

Fuck, he’s hard. He needs to remedy that soon, and if Cross doesn’t give him what he wants, Killer is tempted to just jerk off right here. Screw decency. Maybe the sight of his dick will inspire Cross to stop being so prissy.

They both already know they’ve been equally affected by Nightmare and Dream’s outstanding performance. This isn't the first time an interaction between the twins has driven them into each other's beds, though it's certainly the most explicit. Cross’s just always had a little case of self-denial, particularly when it comes to the softer brother.

“I’m not you,” Cross finally manages to say. His voice is quiet but resolute, and he glares at the wall. “I don’t go fucking all my problems away because I’m a needy little whore who can’t get his boss to give him the time of day.”

It’s a critical mistake that Cross has kept his eyes averted. Anger surging, Killer doesn’t think twice as he grabs Cross’s soul with his magic and flings him off the bed and against the wall. The startled, pained cry he receives is the sweetest music. 

Killer feels his grin stretch wide at the struggling skeleton. Cross fights against the magic encasing his soul to no avail, and Killer squeezes it tighter. He sighs happily at the agony that flares across Cross’s face.

This is more his element—a little rough, a little violent. The LV in his soul sings at the promise of antagonism as Killer slips off the bed and takes several slow, measured steps to where Cross is pinned. His manic smile curves up at the edges when he closes in and sees that Cross’s arousal hasn’t dulled in the slightest, magic still luminescent. Giddy with anticipation, the anger quietens to a whisper—not gone, _ never _gone, just waiting.

He slams the knife down into the wall next to Cross’s head and relishes the way the other monster recoils. He’s usually so stoic, so untouchable. This is par for the course so far as their usual _associations_ go. Cross must really be feeling it if he can’t control the emotions that show on his face. Killer’s cock strains against his shorts, aching at the thought of being able to take that nonchalance apart.

Hands in his pockets now, Killer forces his knee in between Cross’s legs, pushing it up into his arousal. Cross yelps, embarrassed and furious. Killer smirks at him, sockets low-lidded. “What was that about being a needy little whore?”

“Get the fuck off of me, Killer,” Cross growls, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he can hear the breathy tremor in his voice. 

“Is that what you really want?” Killer muses, grinding his knee more firmly into Cross’s dick. He speaks softly, like he’s sharing a secret. “You heard them right? You heard the way they used each other, feral and desperate?”

Cross’s jaw clenches tight, eyelights blazing with reproach even as Killer feels his trapped soul stutter erratically in the grasp of his magic. It’s precious how upstanding he’s pretending to be. “They probably knew we could. Bet they even planned for it.”

Killer removes his hands from his pockets, reaching out to grab Cross’s hips. The other monster takes in a shaky breath at the motion, sharp and unconscious. Killer laughs, pleased. He slips his hands under the hem of Cross’s sweater, stroking the bare bones of his hip where his shorts don’t cover them.

“It’s frustrating, huh?” He meets Cross’s eye, knowing. “Having what you crave within reach but being unable to touch it.”

“I don’t know what your talking about.” Cross grits his teeth, and the way he clearly tries to act unaffected is laughable. 

“No?” Killer leans in and presses his grin against Cross’s throat in a mock kiss. He feels the shudder that wracks through Cross’s frame. “If that’s the case, then why don’t you stop me? You’ve got two hands. Put ’em to use if you’re not really into this.”

Unable to help himself, Killer shifts even closer and takes a little taste of the thin strip of bone peeking from Cross’s turtleneck. He keeps a tight hold on his soul to make sure Cross doesn’t get any ideas, but it doesn’t fully restrict Cross’s movement. He feels hands reach out and flatten against his front. 

Cross doesn’t push him away. Instead, a long, long moment passes between them as he hesitates and struggles with his adorable conscience warring against him. Then, ever so slowly, his fingers curl around Killer’s ribs as much as the turtleneck will allow.

Killer hums with delight. He nips Cross’s vertebrae and is gifted with a surprised gasp in return. Every last bit of need is audible in that one little sound. Killer soothes the bite with his tongue and rolls his knee at the heated magic between Cross’s legs. 

In muted pleasure, Cross presses his forehead against Killer’s shoulder and swears softly. He’s shaking like a leaf. It’d be all too easy to pull him apart like this, and Killer has never been able to deny himself some fun.

“You should’ve seen them. They didn’t have a single care as to who might catch them in the act. It was as if they _ wanted _ to be found. And Dream...”

Cross’s hips shift of their own accord against Killer’s knee, a soft noise slipping past his teeth. Killer doesn’t try to stifle his chuckle.

Just as he thought. Even now, Cross is helpless before his little crush on the innocent keeper of hopes and dreams.

Well. Not so innocent after all it would seem. The sound of Dream’s desperate moaning ripples through Killer’s memory once more, and his dick aches at the thought. Soon. He just needs to give Cross a final push.

Lowering his voice to a seductive whisper, he says, “His legs were spread so wide while he was being fucked. Rolling his hips into every thrust. Helpless. Pleading to have his pussy filled with cum. The mess he made damn near left a puddle from the slick dripping down his thighs. And he just. Kept. Begging. For more.”

“Oh, fuck,” Cross says in a broken whisper, his phalanges trembling where he’s gripping onto Killer. His sockets flicker closed, unconscious, hips still stuttering through another grind. Submission is so close, Killer can taste it, sweet and cloying on his tongue.

“Dream was so wet, it would’ve been one smooth glide all the way in.” He tugs on the elastic of Cross’s shorts, slipping them down, slow and careful. “Irresistible, really. He’d have been so tight. So warm. With the sweet sounds he was making, he was probably pulsing around that dick, coaxing it to fill him up.”

Cross’s mouth parts, panting. He thinks he hears Cross murmur Dream’s name under breath, but it’s lost in a cut-off groan as Killer finally inches his shorts low enough for his cock to spring free. Killer’s false throat constricts at the sight, the colour of Cross’s magic only shades away from what he’d seen just moments ago on Nightmare. Hot yearning balloons in his chest, and it’s with feral glee that he scrapes his teeth against Cross’s neck, his goal within reach. Cross groans, almost pained.

“But, _ mm_, he took it so well,” Killer continues, pressed to Cross’s flushed neck, snaking a hand down to his own clothes and shoving them quickly out of the way. He wraps a hand around his cock, giving it a cursory stroke, the first direct touch since finding the brothers in the foyer. He can’t help the way he hisses, relief after so long without. His dick jumps at the motion, precome trickling from the tip, swollen and needy. 

All the while, Cross’s sockets are squeezed shut so tight that Killer wonders if he’s afraid opening them will break the illusion.

He strokes himself a few more times and basks in the sensation. It would be so easy to just keep going until his come splatters over his fingers and Cross. As delightful the image in his mind is, of Cross covered in Killer’s magic, that would shatter the tentative calm he’s lulled Cross into. Already, Cross is leaning his weight onto him. His head is tilted to the side ever so slightly to bare his neck and make room for Killer’s teeth. He doesn’t think Cross is aware of how vulnerable he’s made himself. Seems only fair that Killer should reward such misplaced trust.

Nightmare once said Killer’s knack for making others at ease around him was both a curse and a valuable weapon. That kind of praise is enough to ensure Killer doesn’t ever lose his silver tongue.

He continues, “He sang so sweetly for more. Heedless of everything save for the feeling of his cunt being filled.”

With a final, satisfying stroke, he pulls his hand away from his cock. It’s wet from his own slick. _ Perfect. _

“So just imagine,” he coos, slowly reaching out. His fingertips rest just on the base of Cross’s dick, receiving a full-body shudder that could be a result from both the touch and his sly words. 

“Imagine how he would feel clenching around your cock.”

The moan escapes Cross unbidden this time. His grip on Killer’s ribs turns bruising as his hips thrust forward. With a self-satisfied smirk, Killer gives him what he needs. He wraps his slick hand around Cross’s dick and strokes him all the way up to the tip, smoothing his thumb over the slit. Cross gasps wetly against Killer, sockets fluttering as if he wants to open his eyes and see Dream there, _ his _ hand squeezing his dick.

He keeps his eyes shut. Killer can only imagine the dazed pleasure in the other’s eyelights, but it’s no matter. He gives another firm stroke and savors the bitten off noise muffled against his shoulder.

What would it be like to have Nightmare leaning into him like this? While Cross is an almost perfect match for him in the colour of his magic, purple tinted light casting onto Killer’s phalanges where he touches him, it’s hard to picture the leader of their ragtag little group giving in like this. But, oh, how good it would be. To have Nightmare surrender to him… to have all that wrath and destructive power laid bare by his touch alone.

Killer shivers, rocking his hips forward into Cross. His wayward partner chokes on another breath and this time Killer _ does _ hear him say Dream’s name, all hopeless want and longing. Laughter bubbles up inside him, the urge to prod at this exposed, sensitive part of Cross almost irrepressible.

Almost, because Killer is still much more interested in how he can use this for his own relief.

So he holds his tongue and doesn’t call it out, instead licking a path up Cross’s neck and savouring it. He doesn’t taste like Nightmare. Not like Killer imagines he would anyway. There’s nothing bitter, no hint of black licorice, just a touch of sweetness, like a layer of milk chocolate on the back of his tongue. He drags his teeth down, scraping along the vertebrae.

“_Hh_, shit—” Cross pants, and for a second his sockets flicker open. He pulls his head away and looks at Killer with eyelights blown out and hazy, not quite there. The rawness of it pools liquid in his soul, the feeling going straight to his cock. “W-what the fuck are you waiting for, asshole? H-hurry up.”

Killer doesn’t have the jagged teeth of the Sanses from Fell universes, but he can tell his smile still cuts with the way Cross winces at the sight of it. This is yet another point where he’d normally say something, a jab with his words when his knife isn’t in his hand, but Cross is the predictable sort—there’s no doubt he’d slam his walls up at even the hint of being taunted. He lets it go, giving Cross’s cock a squeeze and watching the way his eyelights flicker, blush surging on his cheekbones. Then, he takes them both in hand.

“Better?” He asks, gripping their slickened cocks together and giving them a stroke. It’s quick and light, not enough to do more than tease.

Cross stiffens against him. The air is suddenly much more tense, as if he had forgotten that he wasn’t the only one aroused. Killer smiles unkindly as he repeats the teasing motion, and Cross restlessly shifts against the knee still pressed between his legs. Despite not being his primary target, Killer can’t help but find the blush lighting up Cross’s face pretty. It suits him—a vibrant purple hue that betrays his arousal and complements the magic throbbing in Killer’s hand. 

Probably best not to let Cross have any second thoughts. He can already see the uncertainty creeping in as Killer loosely jerks them both off. Good thing he’s had Cross’s number from the beginning because this is an easy fix.

He tightens his hold and lids his sockets at the approving gasp that follows.

“Yeah, feels good, don’t it?” He slowly strokes the both of them, and though it heightens the demanding heat in his own pelvis, the way Cross shudders against him is more than worth it.

“_Fuck_,” Cross breathes. The sound of his bones shaking against the wall is beautiful.

Killer methodically works them closer to that end, speeding up his strokes and making sure to swipe his thumb along Cross’s slit every so often. For all the times he’s usually running his stupid mouth, Cross is rather quiet now, struggling to keep his moans to a minimum. Killer digs his thumb into the slit of Cross’s dick and isn’t able to stop the laugh from slipping out as Cross groans heavily. 

The other skeleton’s teeth are clenched tight, bared in a grimace that rivals the enthusiastic thrusting of his hips into Killer’s hand. If only the prim skeleton could see himself now. How the not-so-mighty have fallen.

Although... that is an idea to be revisited for another time. Maybe bring out a mirror to make Cross see what he looks like when he’s giving in to baser pleasure. Killer’s not opposed to putting some work in, especially if it means he can get himself off while ripping away Cross’s stoic mask to reveal the helpless submission underneath. He’s going to enjoy making Cross fall apart by his touch.

“How do you want it? Tighter?” Killer flexes his grip, tightening the ring he’s made and only letting Cross enjoy it for a few strokes before letting it fall slack again. “I guess that wouldn’t be very realistic though, huh?”

Cross makes a muted, desperate noise of bewilderment. Killer grins.

“Nightmare got him good and stretched out. Fucked up into him till he was all soft and pliant. Probably could’ve filled him up with a tentacle or two alongside his dick.”

The feeling of Cross’s cock pulsing against his own is maddening. Still, stroke after stroke isn’t quite enough, and he brings his free hand up to his mouth and licks over the palm of it. Cross’s eyes follow him, intense. He makes a show of it, getting his palm wetter with a few more passes and giving the other skeleton a wink. Then, he brings the flat of it down to rub against both their heads simultaneously while his other hand continues to stroke.

The coinciding sensations make his whole body shiver, and a low groan works its way out of his mouth. Cross is much the same, throwing his head back hard enough to thwack the wall behind him. Precome dribbles anew from them both, and Killer uses it to rub and slip the heel of his palm more firmly against their combined magic.

“He—” Killer starts, only to surprise himself by the way his voice cracks on a moan. He tries again. “He looked pretty all fucked up like that. Flushed face, ripped tights, slick coating every inch of his pelvis and femurs. There’s something _ real nice _ about wrecking a perfect thing.”

“Do you ever shut uh—_hnn_—!” Cross starts to say before his breath hitches. He’s so close to losing that final bit of restraint, to sagging against the magic Killer’s still exerting on his soul and letting him see what Cross looks like when he’s nearly driven out of his mind with pleasure. But there’s a bite to his tone that lingers, and Killer isn’t keen on playing nice for long.

And so, he briefly stops rubbing his palm against the heads of their dicks and grabs Cross’s face, dragging him into a long kiss and smearing his face with their slick. Cross yelps in surprise, which Killer uses to his advantage. He pushes his tongue into the other skeleton’s mouth, swallowing his protest and deepening the kiss. Feeling Cross begin to feebly struggle against his hold only excites him further. 

Killer playfully toys with Cross’s tongue. There’s nothing remarkable about the kiss—at least, nothing like how he’s imagined it would be like to make out with Nightmare. But it’s working towards his advantage as the final remains of tension slowly seep out of Cross and leave him accepting and pliant. Killer releases his grip on Cross’s face and brings it back down to their aching magic. With a cursory brush of his fingertips along the head of Cross’s dick, he finds him still dripping wet. Cross softly moans into the kiss but doesn’t tense up or try to spew more bullshit. 

_ Finally. _

Killer pulls away with a last, quick peck and grins at the dazed look Cross gives him when his sockets flutter open.

“There now,” he whispers in the scant space between them. Thinking quickly, Killer adjusts his voice to an even lighter, softer lilt that mimics the voice he’s heard so many times ever since Dream moved into the castle. 

“That’s it. I’ve got you, _ Cross._”

Cross squeezes his eyes shut again and gasps, his head tilting against the wall. He rocks into Killer’s grasp over and over. This time, Killer doesn’t begin with a slow-building pace. He jerks them off with fast strokes that leave them both moaning at the heightening sensation. His other hand resumes the careful attention to their heads as his palm teases the slits, and the sounds of wet magic fill the air.

“G-gonna make you come to the thought of your precious crush,” Killer says. His voice catches momentarily, and he struggles to keep track of his own words as the heat climbs higher. He squeezes their cocks and is nearly blindsided by how much closer that brings him to the edge.

“How do you think he’d take it? Would he—_fuck_—w-would he slip as easily onto your cock like he did Nightmare’s? Would he beg loudly for more, satisfaction out of reach until you give it to him? Maybe he’d cry for you like he did for his brother, forced to lie there and just fucking take it.”

“Wh—forced...?” Cross says, strangled, confused, “What do you...?”

Killer isn’t listening, rambling on. All they need is a little more. He can feel the sweet pressure building, an almost acidic taste rising in the back of his conjured throat. He’s so close, it’s so good, Cross’s cock is hot and flushed and so _ slick _ as it rubs against his own, and the ring of his fingers keeping them both pressed together is tight enough to make him see spots in his vision already.

“God, he was so fucking vulnerable like that. Nightmare wrenching his femurs apart, keeping his cunt exposed while he rammed into him over and over. He was delirious, didn't even know what he was asking for anymore, I bet—mercy or more abuse. Doubt he could even hear his own voice in between all those choked sobs and pleading.”

He can feel release just out of his reach. He flexes his phalanges, drags his palms over their heads, shivers and swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Killer—_what the fuck—_”

“We ought to ask if Nightmare's willing to share his toy, huh?” His cock swells, throbbing. He's so close, he's _ so fucking close_, his body feels high-strung, tension coiled tight, he's warm all over, he's so. Damn. Close. He just needs to get a little bit further. “We could tie him up. Keep him nice and spread as we pass him around and use his cunt till he's begging. A little group bonding exer—”

The impact hits him square in the chest, not at all the orgasm he expects.

Instead two firm hands shove him back.

Killer's sockets snap open—he hadn't even realised he’d shut them in the first place—and he nearly stumbles onto his ass before managing to catch his balance. His cock throbs, pained, but Killer forces his focus back on Cross. Cross, whose chest is heaving with every heavy breath, his own cock still hard and leaking as he stares Killer down with venom. It’s then that Killer notes he’s no longer holding onto Cross’s soul either.

He’d been more far-gone than he realised to have released his control over the other skeleton like that.

Irritation bleeds from him as he slowly manages to come down from the verge of climax. “The _ fuck _was that about?”

Cross practically snarls at him. “I should be asking you that.” Hatred and anger burn bright in his eyelights, which are rapidly becoming sharper as he snaps out of the daze Killer had lulled him into.

Killer stares at him in frustrated bewilderment. “You seemed pretty into it two seconds a—”

“That was before everything you said about forcing Dream against his will,” Cross snaps.

Oh, for fuck’s sake—

Killer rolls his eyelights. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure your little canary would be completely on board. Can we pick up where we left off now?”

Cross scoffs, flashing a bitter grin that’s more grimace. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m the slightest bit interested in continuing.”

Killer raises a brow and stares pointedly at Cross’s still-hard dick then back at his face. Cross flushes, but he doesn’t drop the defensive stance that he’s taken since pushing Killer away.

There’s a couple ways Killer could go about this. Considering his cock aches for relief, he could sweet talk his way into convincing Cross that it was just a slip of the tongue and that he didn’t really mean what he said. Not entirely truthful, but if it’s for the sake of finishing what he started, Killer is more than willing to dredge up his acting skills. The other option is to grab his knife that protrudes from the wall behind Cross and use a little persuasion to get things back on track. That's had good results in the past. Though... he has a feeling that this time it might not go the way he wants either, especially if Cross isn’t willing to drop his guard again. But they’re running low on ideas, and Killer is going to make sure he gets off one way or another, that’s for damn sure.

He sighs and spreads his hands in a placating manner. Time to soothe the angry kitten.

“Ok, look, I might have said some things in the heat of the moment—”

“The fuck it was just idle dirty talk,” Cross cuts him off. “I know you, Killer. I know your _ kind_. And if you think I’m going to just let you waltz around when you’re planning to violate Dream—”

“So what?” Killer sneers at him. “So what if I have a few little fantasies to keep me company at night? It’s not as if you’re not plagued by your own adorable spankbank. Like you’re not terrified that those thoughts will make you a closeted pervert if you ever entertain them for too long.” 

Cross’s face purples even deeper. 

_ Ha_. Bingo. Cross opens his mouth to object, but Killer talks right on over him.

“You don’t know shit about me, Cross. And I’m not about to let some brat talk me down from a good time.”

There’s magic sparking in Cross’s hand like he’s about to summon his weapon. It’s a few long, tense moments as neither of them speak, staring each other down and breathing heavily. After what feels like an aeon passes, the magic dissipates from Cross’s hand, and he pointedly tugs his shorts back up. Killer notes that he doesn’t dismiss his cock that’s still dripping purple precome, and he smirks. Seems like someone’s a little too keyed up to ignore his arousal.

Maybe he can still salvage this.

He tries again. “Y’know, we can sort out our differences later after we’ve given each other a hand.”

Cross smooths his palms down his clothes and winces at the noticeable strain in his shorts. However, the look he fastens Killer with is anything but interested.

“No. What _ you’re _ going to do is tell me whether or not Dream has consented to being in a relationship with Nightmare. And you’re going to tell me _ right now_.”

Welp, there’s that then.

Killer could fix this, easy. He could lay Cross’s worries to rest, even though the truth of the matter is that he has no idea about any of the details to Nightmare and Dream’s relationship. All he can provide Cross with is the assurance that Dream looked and sounded _ very _into whatever Nightmare was doing to him. He’d begged for it whole-heartedly, meeting Nightmare for every thrust and every kiss.

Then again, Killer is fucking _ pissed_.

Who the fuck does Cross think he is, ordering him around like that? Cross ain’t _ shit_. Killer could take him apart, piece by sanctimonious piece, and the only reason he hasn’t already is because Nightmare hasn’t asked him to. He’s not going to do a thing for a bastard with his head so far up his own ass that he thinks his morals are better than the same people he regularly associates himself with.

Yeah, Cross is on his own.

“Fine,” Killer drawls, “You really wanna know?”

Cross has his jaw set, his eyelights bright and unwavering as they watch his every move. Good. Killer has something he wants him to see.

With a sharp, shark-like grin, Killer flips him off. “Then I guess you’ll have to ask Nightmare yourself, asshole.”

He’s not surprised when his knife is thrown at him. In fact, he’s anticipating it, catching it mid-air as Cross yanks his weapon of choice from the wall and hurtles it back at him. No one can catch him off-guard with knives—it’s precious that Cross even tried.

Once the blade is back in his hand, Killer smiles wider, balancing it on the tip of his finger. He tugs his shorts back up with his other hand then shoves it into the pocket of his jacket. He walks backwards until the door is only inches away, staring down a fuming, silent Cross on the other end of the room. When his back hits the door, he pockets the knife and blows Cross a kiss, winking.

He slips out and shuts the door just in time to hear the melody of several bone attacks hitting the other side of it.

A little less enraged now that he’s gotten Cross all riled up and headed for Nightmare—because there’s no way he wouldn’t charge after him now, the self-righteous prick—Killer makes his way down the hall with a new target in mind. A familiar tune begins to play in his head, and with a wry smirk, he softly sings the words to himself, eager anticipation coursing through his body as he heads towards his destination.

“Mr. Sandman,” he hums, “Bring me a dream~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dubcon** wherein Killer continues to wheedle Cross for sex despite Cross' very blunt rejection at the start. It's implied that this is a regular thing between them and expected as part of the territory; a sort of song and dance they go through each time despite knowing it's going to end with mutual interest.
> 
> \---
> 
> Yeah, at this point you should just expect smut from Type and I in every chapter LMAO
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💗💛
> 
> (Please be advised that there is more **dubcon** in this chapter. See end notes for further details.)

Dream closes his bedroom door behind him and leans against it with a heavy sigh.

That… had gone differently than he’d expected. It isn’t entirely unusual for Nightmare to instigate relations outside either of their rooms, but Dream hadn’t anticipated being corralled against the decorative table in the foyer. Nightmare’s eyelight had nearly seared Dream to the core, hunger and intent stark in his leering grin.

He shivers as he recalls the way Nightmare’s hands bracketed him, forcing Dream to lean back on the marble surface to steady himself.

He can’t deny that ever since their relationship began, Nightmare’s low tone and filthy language has struck a chord within Dream every time. He knows he shouldn’t be engaged in such lewd activities with his own _brother_. He knows that if word ever got out, his friends might shun him, but—

Dream doesn’t know what it is about their relationship, but something pulls him towards his brother just as surely as Nightmare is driven towards him. They need each other; they always have. And with the way their need has manifested in the past couple of months, it’s not all that difficult to go along with Nightmare’s devious coaxing. He used to always take care of Dream when they were younger. There’s some part of Dream that still yearns for the closeness they once shared.

He feels his face flush hot. At least no one else is able to witness his embarrassment in the sanctity of his bedroom. He hasn’t even dismissed the pussy he formed earlier, a direct result of the whispered suggestion from Nightmare, more demand than request.

_“Why don’t you go clean up, brother, and when you do, be sure to think of me. Because I…will surely be thinking about you. I want to feel when you chase your relief once more at the thought of my touch replacing your own.”_

His magic between his femurs burns just as hotly as his face, his still dripping pussy demanding attention. He’s wasting time just standing here and ruminating, and it’s probably best not to tempt fate. Dream pushes away from the door and meanders over to his bed, shedding his clothes along the way. He leaves a trail on the floor, but he’ll pick them up later. Besides, his clothes are beyond soiled with his and Nightmare’s magic. He’s not going to leave such glaring evidence out in the open for too long where someone else might see it.

For now, though, a shower is sorely needed. The only article of clothing Dream makes sure to carefully lay on the bed is his scarf. He smoothes out the wrinkles and smiles softly at the ancient, golden fabric. It’s withstood so much abuse, even transforming from a cape to its now notably smaller stature as a scarf, but it remains very special and dear to Dream. No matter how many times he dons the scarf, he can’t help but imagine it’s Nightmare’s hands instead, gentle fingers tucking the material around him to shield Dream from the raging storm.

A sudden, brief draft of air curling against his bones reminds him that he’s very much standing in his room minus any clothes at all. He shudders at the chill that seems to be pervading the room and decides it’s high time he stopped losing himself in his memories.

Were he not so distracted, he might have sensed the new conglomerate of emotions that were now concentrated alarmingly close behind his shaking form. Dream steps away from the bed and gasps at the sudden presence curved against his back, warm breath cascading along his neck.

“Hey there, little light.”

Dream jolts. He’s about to whip around to face the source of the voice when two firm hands grab him by the shoulders and keep him from turning. His soul pounds frantically, alarmed. His breath quickens. The body behind him presses closer, chest to his back.

“Shh, relax, it’s only me,” the intruder purrs, and Dream struggles to calm himself enough to search through their emotions and place the feeling of their aura.

Once he has it, it only serves to confuse him that much further. “K-Killer?”

“That’s right, sunshine,” his brother’s right-hand says, “You’ve had a busy day, huh?”

One of Killer’s hands drifts down from his shoulder, trailing along his unclothed bones. His touch ghosts along the path, Dream’s bones tingling even after Killer’s hand retreats further south, settling on his bare hip. When Killer inches closer still, leaning his skull down into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his shirt catches in the notches of Dream’s spine. It’s a reminder of the state of him, how bare he is in front of someone who’s never had a reason to see him like this. Dream’s face burns.

“W-what are you doing here—? I’m not—”

“I heard you.”

The words are enough to clamp Dream’s mouth shut. There’s no mistaking what Killer is talking about, not when the memory of crying out in pleasure under his brother is at the forefront of all his thoughts. He’d known someone might overhear them, he’d known that his brother had planned it that way, but... he hadn’t been able to bring himself to mind.

“Killer, I—”

“You sound real pretty when you’re desperate,” Killer whispers into his neck, his breath warm along the smooth planes of his already flushed body. His left hand rubs softly at Dream’s shoulder before shifting forward slightly, pressure changed. Dream flicks his gaze to the side. His breath catches.

Killer’s knife glints in his hand, quiet and intimidating.

“I wonder,” Killer continues, “If I could get you to make those noises for _me_.”

Dream sucks in a hasty breath as Killer brings the cold metal of the knife to his throat and lightly drags the tip of it down to his collarbone. He has a feeling in his gut that he knows exactly where this is going, and the magic between his legs throbs at the prospect. He could push Killer away. He could demand that he leave. Still, Dream is curious... he's heard things after so long spent in the castle, and now he has the opportunity to sate that curiosity.

Dream swallows and says, “Killer, w-what do you mean?”

The knife idly traces along his bare front. Dream has never been more aware of the deadly edge that sits just inches away from the base of his neck. He trembles in place, but the firm press of Killer’s body against his back brings the slightest bit of comfort. Dream’s breaths are short, and every jittery exhale makes him all the more focused on the way his chest pushes against the knife.

“Simple,” Killer croons. The hand at Dream’s pelvis begins to slip down, phalanges spreading out and creeping further south in a tantalizing tease.

“You’re so _dirty_,” he says, “leaking cum everywhere from your wet pussy. I can help you with that.”

With agonizing slowness, like he's just waiting for Dream to stop him, his hand reaches Dream’s throbbing cunt. Killer's thumb brushes his clit, still so overly sensitive from Nightmare’s thorough attention to it. Dream’s legs tremble, and a soft noise escapes him when Killer gives it a gentle rub.

“I want to taste you.”

His fingers slip down between the lips of Dream’s cunt and spread open his folds. Immediately, Dream feels spent magic slipping out of his pussy and onto Killer’s hand. Killer rests two of his fingers against Dream’s entrance and curls them in the slightest degree. It’s a clear enticement, and Dream shudders at the touch. He can’t help but push his hips into Killer’s hand a little, his pussy throbbing at the promise of being filled once more. Killer purrs his satisfaction into the side of Dream’s neck, playful nipping at the exposed bone while he presses the knife against Dream’s collarbone a little harder.

“I want to taste _him_,” he whispers. “So what do you say, darling? Wanna help each other out?”

He can’t answer. Dream doesn’t know what he would say that wouldn’t immediately paint him in an unflattering light. The fact of the matter is that Killer’s rough, sweetly whispering voice, his firm fingers, and the edge of his blade all fill Dream with a warmth that he can’t escape. He and Nightmare discussed hypotheticals—situations where they belonged to more people than just each other—but it was never about Killer in specific, despite how often Dream had seen his brother's gaze linger thoughtfully on him.

“I...” Dream swallows, throat thick with want. “I can’t... Nightmare—”

“Nightmare’s busy right now. He’s got Cross to deal with.”

Dream’s soul flutters, worry and confusion pulsing into him. “Cross...? What happened? Are they both okay?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” Killer’s fingers flatten in a barely there stroke against his lips, making Dream shudder. There’s a growl in Killer’s throat that Dream can only hear because the monster has his mouth nipping right up along his jaw, the sound of it rattling through his bones. “You and the boss were _loud_, you know? So let’s just say that I’m not the only one with a little… heh, pent-up energy.”

At this, Killer juts his hips forward and Dream’s sockets widen at the feel of Killer’s erection pressing into the back of his sacrum. His chest feels tight, his pussy clenching uselessly. Killer chuckles, feeling the reaction out with his fingers when Dream still doesn't try to stop him. He rubs his phalanges a little more purposefully in the slick and magic still steadily dripping out of Dream. His knife stays poised, delicately making shapes along Dream’s sternum with the thin tip.

“We had a… _talk_. And at the end of it, I came here while Cross went after your brother.”

Dream’s breathing stutters haphazardly. Cross and his brother...? He’s thrown, his thoughts muddled and distracted, his body still too finely attuned to touch and sensation to process much else. Killer doesn’t let him linger regardless.

In the next instant, Killer is pushing him forward and Dream yelps, startled, as he stumbles into the bed. He lands face forward, sinking into the mattress on his hands and knees, his scarf wrinkling underneath him. His face flames when he feels Killer’s weight join him. Anxious bubbling rises in his chest at the idea of not being able to see Killer’s face as the other monster crowds him in. Dream stumbles into a turn, flipping around. In doing so, he’s greeted with the image of Killer leering down at him, a sharp, hungry smile cutting across his face.

“K...killer...” Dream starts, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with it. Having Killer here, in his room, in his _bed_, while he lays bare and dirtied from his earlier encounter with his brother makes Dream’s body tense in a way that’s not entirely in dread.

“How rude of me.” Killer laughs, shucking off his jacket and revealing his bare shoulders. Dream’s pussy gives another traitorous throb. “Here you are, all naked and inviting, and I’m still dressed.”

He drops his jacket onto the floor, the white bones of his shoulders drawing Dream’s gaze. It’s such a little thing to become riveted by, but Dream always just assumed that like Nightmare, Killer wore a similar, comfortable assortment of sweaters and turtlenecks. Seeing the other monster’s arms so exposed before him is like receiving a jolt, and it leaves Dream shivering and wanting to reach out and touch.

He keeps his hands by his sides, uncertain what to do with them.

Something in his expression and wandering eyes must interest Killer because he stops in the midst of hooking his thumb under the waistband of his shorts. He quirks a browbone at Dream and releases the elastic, instead bracing his hands on the mattress and crawling forward until he’s straddling him. Dream inhales at the sudden press and rub of Killer’s clothed erection against his pussy. With a quiet laugh, Killer grinds against him, grin as sharp as the knife that still glimmers in one of his hands.

“Unless, of course, you‘d rather I leave certain articles of clothing on?”

Dream smiles shakily. “F-far be it from me to tell you what you can and can’t wear,” he says, trying to relieve the tension he’s feeling. His thoughts are still spinning at what Cross and Nightmare might be doing. Instead of upsetting Dream, it creates a low level of heat that begins at the tip of his coccyx and travels up with inviting warmth.

Killer snorts. He rolls his hips again in a way that makes Dream gasp. “Maybe I’ll save the strip tease for another day, sweetheart. But for now...”

As the other monster begins to lean forward, encouraging him to lie flat, Dream is reminded of the precious scarf that’s bunched under his coccyx.

“W-wait,” he says. Killer stiffens, perhaps interpreting that as a request that he stop. When Dream doesn't push him away he tilts his head, browbone lifting, but his eyelight softens a measure when Dream lifts his pelvis and carefully tugs the scarf free. Dream breaks eye contact and twists, resting the scarf it a safe distance away on the bed. Once he resituates himself, attention on the patiently waiting monster, Killer huffs a quiet laugh and resumes crowding Dream against the bed.

Killer flattens one hand beside his arm while the other hovers just above his chest with the knife, effectively trapping Dream. He trembles under Killer who shifts his weight against Dream’s pelvis with a smirk. He places the knife right at the junction where one of his ribs connects with his sternum.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Dream asks. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. The menacing glint of the knife continually demands his attention.

Killer grins thoughtfully, considering. His eyelight trails in slow appreciation over the whole of Dream. “Not unless you ask me to,” he says after a moment.

It takes everything within Dream not to flinch, but there’s something building inside of him. Something excited. His pubic symphysis aches like it’s directly attuned to every point of contact the blade makes with his chest as it teasingly rests against his rib.

The knife’s tip scrapes against the sensitive edge of Dream’s rib with careful precision, flirting just on the side of pain, and Dream inhales sharply. He’s unable to stop the way his chest involuntarily presses into the blade, inflicting more pressure and that sweet, sweet bite of pain that swiftly follows. His mouth drops open as the heat in his pelvis flares.

Killer gapes at him. His sockets are wide, staring down at Dream like it’s almost too good to be true, like he can’t believe his sudden fortune. The target on his sleeveless turtleneck pulsates vibrant shades of red, flickering shape, and the sheer desire on his face has Dream twisting the sheets in his fists.

He looks away. It’s one thing to be wanted by his brother. Even that is something Dream has always been able to easily understand. Nightmare shares a profound connection with him that resonates within their souls. But to see and _feel _that same want projected towards him from another... it’s enough to make him squirm underneath Killer’s weight. Not to get away—just to curb the restlessness and the anxious anticipation coursing through his whole body. Dream feels like he could shake apart, and Killer would relish the show.

The prick of metal at his ribs lifts, and the flat of the knife presses against his cheekbone, coaxing him to turn his head back to face Killer. Seeing Killer’s grin shift to something more gentle, his soul steadying into the form of an inverted heart, Dream exhales a long breath and relaxes just a fraction.

Killer shifts forward, filling Dream’s vision.

“Do you _want _me to hurt you, little light?” He asks, his voice so soft it’s almost just a breath.

Dream swallows. He closes his eyes and leans into the cold metal. There’s no turning back. No denying how thoroughly he’s into this. They both know that now. Killer probably just wants to hear him say it out loud, and Dream is far too gone to not want to explore this unexpected, new development that makes his soul race.

Some part of him also longs to cave in to the vicious thrill he feels emanating from Killer.

“...Yes,” he whispers, “Pl—please hurt me, Killer.”

“_Fuck_,” Killer gasps above him, arousal thick in his tone.

Killer’s hips rock forward, rubbing his constrained erection along his still-wet pussy once more. Dream shivers. Knowing that his brother was putting on a show was something he’d acknowledged and allowed, but seeing the results are striking. There’s a swirling, heated feeling in his aching magic when it really hits him that Killer is here _because _of Dream. Killer is _hard _because of him. That lust in his sockets and the eager press of his cock along the wet folds of his cunt are _all because of him_.

It’s heady, a surge of desire that makes his soul swell and his mouth dry. Even with Killer boxing him in like this, knife to his chest and sharpness to his grin, Dream knows he’s here because he’s _desperate_. Killer wants him, and Dream made it that way.

He arches his back a little further, leaning into the blade, wincing as it pricks against the surface of his ribs where the other monster holds it. Killer chokes on a sound, hips jutting forward again and making Dream hiss at the rough glide. He can’t quite bring himself to look, but he can imagine just how soaked the front of Killer’s shorts must be getting.

“Please...” He begs again, hoping to play into what the skeleton likes. “I... I-I need it.”

Killer laughs breathlessly. “You play dirty, Dream.”

Somehow, after the steady stream of diminutives, hearing his actual name in Killer’s low rasp makes new wetness drip from his pussy. Killer notices, if the way he grinds down into him is any indication. The knife remains still, edge braced against his sternum as Dream shivers, swallowing back a moan.

“You know... you and Nightmare keep saying you’re twins, but I never really saw the similarity. Not up until now, anyways.” Killer leans in close, peering into Dream’s face with a manic smile. “You’ve got the same look in your eye. Calculating. Like I’m just a piece you wanna move around on your chessboard. Something to use and discard once you’re satisfied.”

Dream bristles at the comparison. “I wouldn’t—”

Killer drags the knife down his chest, a _real _cut, thin and light. The marrow wells up to the surface and tears spring to Dream’s sockets. His pussy throbs and clenches around nothing. It hurts.

Dream likes it.

“Shh... you misunderstand me, I’m not complaining.” Killer runs his tongue over his teeth, and Dream is struck by a sudden desire to know what he tastes like. “More than happy to be of service, sweetheart. Use me however you want. I’m into it.”

With the hand not dancing the blade along Dream’s body, Killer reaches in between them. Dream’s breath hitches as Killer rubs three fingers along his slick slit before spreading him open. His face heats, burning at the easy, shameless way Killer does it, eyelight staring down at him as his brother’s cum drips down onto the sheets. Still keeping him spread, Killer inches closer and rubs the full length of his clothed cock against him.

“Just promise me I’ll get to come, yeah?” Killer laughs, some sort of wry personal joke that Dream misses. “Doesn’t have to be in you. I’d be fuckin’ set just eating you out and jerking myself off. You good with that?”

Dream nods, perhaps a bit too eagerly. He feels a deep flush of embarrassment when Killer’s mouth quirks at him, but he presses on.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. There’s longing welling within him to taste Killer and tug him close.

Killer laughs—a surprised sound—but he sets the knife on the bed within easy reach. Dream tries to not let his disappointment show, though Killer’s slightly lifted brow tells him he wasn’t successful.

“Sure thing, sunshine,” Killer says. He leans down and rests his forearm on the bed next to Dream’s head, trapping him in place. His eyelight searches Dream’s for a moment before flicking down to his mouth. His tongue playfully licks along his teeth again as he closes the distance and kisses Dream.

He’s nothing like Nightmare. There’s no hint of apples or spice. No possessive claiming, though Killer does take control of the kiss in a demanding way that leaves Dream breathless. He tastes faintly sweet, like chocolate, something that surprises Dream and delights him all the same. He winds his arms around Killer’s neck and rolls his hips into the fingers still at his pussy. Killer sucks on Dream’s tongue and thrusts two fingers into him, the wet noise loud as he curls them and feels Nightmare and Dream’s cum.

Dream moans gratefully and spreads his femurs even more. After being so thoroughly used in the foyer, he should be spent, but the hot rush of lust reignites his need, and Killer gladly feeds into it. He grinds the heel of his palm along Dream’s clit while his fingers scissor Dream open. Gasping into Killer’s mouth, Dream thrusts against him.

Killer chooses to deny him his request for more as he slips his fingers out of him. Dream doesn’t try to stop the impatient whine he lets out, and Killer breaks the kiss. He doesn’t go far, lidded gaze heavy with satisfaction. Killer brings up the hand that was fondling Dream’s pussy between them. His fingers are coated in a mix of purple and gold. With a sly grin aimed at Dream, he slips two of his fingers into his mouth and shudders as a loud groan escapes him. Dream watches Killer’s sockets slip shut in delight as he sucks the cum from his fingers. The realization that Killer wants to do much the same to his pussy causes his magic to throb, and Dream shifts restlessly underneath him.

Killer’s sockets slip open as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. They’re covered with his spit, the purple and gold completely gone.

“I’m sorry,” Killer says, though his voice is far from apologetic. With a glint in his eyelight, he reaches back down between them and slips his fingers along the cum dripping from Dream’s cunt before bringing his hand back up again.

“Did you want a taste?”

Spit wells in his mouth at the suggestion, forcing him to swallow, body tense and tingling. He can’t manage a sound, can’t even manage a nod of his head. Killer’s hazy eyelight on him fills his body with ceaseless heat. Slowly, Dream lets his mouth fall slack, tongue flat, breath stuttering already.

There’s another low laugh from Killer, delighted, like every little thing Dream does is fascinating and unexpected. He doesn’t blame him. Dream is surprised himself by how into this he is. Killer brings his fingers forwards, slipping them onto his tongue and Dream automatically closes his mouth, sucking on them.

He can taste Nightmare immediately, the familiar flavour of his brother making his sockets fall shut and a whimper work its way out of his throat. His pussy clenches, wanting, legs wriggling uselessly. His own taste is more muted, a contrast to Nightmare’s own. It’s filthy, tasting the mark his brother left in him, but it’s Killer’s low growl, heated and unconscious, that really makes him flush. With it, the reminder of what he’s doing—gross, wrong, disgusting—and who he’s doing it with, just drives his lust that much further.

“Hell, sweetheart. You’re so into this.” Killer pulls his hand back, cleaning off his phalanges with slow swipes of his tongue, more of Dream’s flavour on his tongue. His sockets are half-lidded, his eyelight unwavering on Dream. “Cross might be onto something with that consent kink of his.”

Dream frowns, puzzled, but before he can ask, Killer slides a hand into his shorts and works out his cock, bright and thick, and he’s immediately distracted. There’s a glistening to his dick, like it’s already wet, and Dream is left wondering whether Killer grinding against him through his shorts was enough to get him in that state. Precome drips from the tip and Dream’s eyelights stare, transfixed, as Killer strokes a hand over and down before guiding himself forward and rubbing the length of it along Dream’s spread folds.

“Hhg—” The noise that escapes him is guttural, spit-choked.

Killer is warm pressed up against him like this, magic pulsing rhythmically. Every smooth glide is tantalizing, the sensation going right to his core. He wants with frightening intensity for Killer to slip into him all at once, filling him up with the full length of his cock. He shouldn’t. He has Nightmare, and regardless of what his brother is doing with Cross, Dream feels like they should talk about this first at the very least.

His confliction must be evident on his face, because Killer tilts his head up and away from where Dream’s staring down at where they’re rubbing together. He holds Dream by the chin, searching into his eyelights. Then, Killer leans forward and captures Dream’s mouth in another kiss. The taste of chocolate has faded away, replaced by a lingering wash of Nightmare and himself. Dream blushes hotter.

Killer pulls away and rests his forehead against Dream’s. His eyelight is sharp, clear.

“Don’t worry. I won’t fuck you.” His voice is softer than Dream has ever heard from him before, an arresting change from the vulgarity of his words and actions.

It’s with embarrassment that Dream realises he’s disappointed when Killer shifts his hips back, the heavy girth of his cock disappearing. However, the disheartenment doesn’t last very long as Killer puts his hands on Dream’s hips and drags him close. He yelps, small and surprised, but Killer only winks at him before lifting Dream’s femurs up and draping them over his shoulders. Dream’s face shines bright with his magic. He knows exactly where this is going.

Killer keeps one, bracing hand on his femur and uses the other to hold his cunt open, head turning down and tongue wet and glistening. Dream fists his phalanges tightly into the sheets, bracing himself.

Despite the way he tenses in anticipation, he’s unprepared for the incredible relief of Killer’s tongue against his glistening magic. It glides through the wet, all the way between his lips and along his clit. Dream bites back the moan that is quickly wrenched out of him when Killer repeats the motion. He tastes him with teasing slowness, seeming to savor the moment. Killer’s gaze is riveted on Dream’s pussy as he licks between his folds, but when he begins to push his tongue inside of him, he looks up and stares directly at Dream. There’s a grin playing around the edges of his mouth, his sockets lidded and amused.

Dream’s head falls back at the feeling of Killer’s tongue pressing further inside, curling at the tip and filling Dream in a way that makes him shakily rock back into Killer’s grip. His femurs are trembling from their suspended position, something that reminds him with vivid clarity of how Nightmare held them aloft and spread in the foyer. He feels another rush of heat between his legs, and Killer moans.

“Ahh—” Dream gasps, toes curling and fists clenching tighter as Killer brings him close to the edge with frightening speed. He’s so wet already, and with the way Killer continues to shove his tongue as far as he can into Dream’s pussy, he knows he’s not going to last long. It feels so good. It’s like Dream didn’t even come not twenty minutes ago. He’s already so keyed up, both from the teasing and the realization that he’s doing something he probably shouldn’t with Nightmare’s right-hand. The thought has him grinding his hips in little circles. Killer squeezes his femur in response and pulls back, his tongue slipping from his folds.

“Shit. You both taste fucking amazing.”

Killer pants against his cunt, his warm breath brushing Dream’s clit. Dream can’t suppress the whine that builds in his false throat. His cheekbones burn when Killer’s gaze meets his again, the stark lust gutting him.

There’s traces of his and Nightmare’s cum on Killer’s face, and his chest heaves as he catches his breath. Killer looks starved, like Dream just invited him to use him however he wants. He’s not opposed to the idea at all. The desire to feel Killer thrusting into his heat stirs within Dream yet again, and his cunt clenches.

Killer’s proven his strength already. He could easily flip Dream onto his front, lift his hips up and fill his needy cunt. His hips would smack against Dream’s, his cock spearing his slick magic and rutting into him over and over again as Dream wailed into the sheets.

He could do all of that, and it wouldn’t be enough. Killer has awakened something within Dream that yearns with bright intensity. He wants to ride him and be fucked against the wall, to be bent over the desk in his room, and to slip to his knees and taste Killer on his tongue.

He wants with such great potency, and yet, as the seconds tick by, Killer gives him nothing. Instead, he breathes wetly against the lips of Dream’s pussy and laughs.

“Looking a little desperate there, Dream. Something you need?” Killer’s phalanges squeeze his femur again, wry grin smug and oh so reminiscent of his brother’s. It does nothing to quell the nearly painful need in his cunt that feels like it pulses in time with the beat of his soul. Killer’s thumb rubs his clit in small circles. His eyelight bores into Dream’s as he breathes unevenly.

“Nnh,” he manages, toes curling and uncurling as he fidgets.

It only makes Killer laugh. “You’re one surprise after another, you know that?”

Dream doesn’t answer, can’t, not with the way Killer keeps pressure on his clit, rubbing and stopping in small intervals. His gaze is fixed on how unfazed the skeleton still looks by everything. There’s heat in Killer’s sockets—he’s breathing a little heavy—but he’s unabashed, no shame in what they’re doing whatsoever. Killer’s tongue darts out to lick clean the cum and slick still smeared across his mouth, and Dream shivers.

“I didn’t know what to expect when I walked in here,” Killer whispers, quiet like honesty is new to him. “Figured maybe I’d get an eyeful before you shrieked and kicked me out. Maybe if I was real lucky, I’d snag a kiss off of you before you could protest too much. There wasn't a plan, really. Worst case scenario, I guessed maybe you’d break my wrist or a couple ribs. No biggie, that sorta thing ain’t an issue to me.”

The way Killer pauses makes it seem like there’s more he wants to say, something hesitant... apologetic, maybe? His soul shimmers, the whites of it bright like stars. Whatever it is he wants to say, he holds his tongue, instead dropping his head back down and licking into Dream again. The noise Killer makes as he tastes Dream and Nightmare on his tongue again is filthy. It’s _dirty_. There’s no better word for it. It makes Dream feel hot and amoral and desperate to be fucked.

Killer pulls back again and Dream _whines_.

“I was wrong.” Killer’s grin is roguish, a jolt of arousal that makes new wetness drip from Dream’s pussy. “You’re one of a kind, little light. Lucky me.”

All at once, Killer drags his phalanges up between his spread lips, curling them in and rubbing firmly inside for a few strokes before drawing them out again. Dream pants, pushing his hips down for more, only to meet the jut of Killer’s cock as he wraps his fist around it. Dream’s face heats as the slick sounds of Killer jerking himself off accompany the feel of his dick brushing against his aching cunt with every slight shift of his hips.

Dream trembles, moaning like the sounds alone might tip him over the edge. “Ahn—_hn_—Killer... Killer, please... c... _mhh—_”

“H-hah, what’s that, darling?”

Killer’s voice is strained, sweat breaking out over his skull as he continues to work himself. Dream wants him. His throat feels tight with the urge for it, femurs spreading wider. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, Killer’s eyelight drinking in the sight with appreciation.

Shaking with equal parts nerves and anxious, guilty excitement, Dream unclenches a fist from the bedsheets. He reaches down between his legs and uses two fingers to keep his pussy spread wide open. “C... come on me.”

Killer chokes on a noise, but Dream barrels on, unable to savour the effect his words have on the other monster when embarrassment threatens to overwhelm him. He needs to get the rest out. He needs Killer to know exactly what it is he’s so desperate for.

“P-please, Killer? Come on me, mark me, make me y-yours. I...” Dream swallows, magic scalding his face bright yellow. “I-I want it. I want you.”

“What the fuck.” Killer’s laugh is just on the verge of hysterical, eyelight shaking in his wide-eyed sockets. Every inch of him is a portrait of disbelief, streaked through with arousal so thick that Dream can taste it. “Holy _shit_, Dream.”

The sharp jolt of lust from Killer rolls over Dream and only adds to the desperation laced in his words and tone.

“Please, Killer, I need it... I’m so close, just—pl-please...”

Killer moans raggedly, his hand working over his cock faster, slick dripping down the sides. His magic is thick, and with every little brush of it against Dream’s center, he rocks his hips back into the fleeting touch. It’s a simulation of what it would be like if Killer fucked him, and just this much winds Dream up even tighter. Killer’s dick bumps up against Dream’s clit, and Dream’s breath hitches loudly, bordering on a whimper.

“Never thought—” Killer mutters to himself as he visibly draws close to his finish. “Gonna mark you up... I’ll fucking c-claim you so you don’t ever forget—_hhn_—”

Killer’s voice cuts off as he gasps and shudders, fingers gripping his cock tight and his hand pumping with fervor. He only lasts a few more strokes until he’s coming, sockets squeezing shut tight as his cum coats Dream’s pussy and pelvis, the spent magic driving Dream into a near frenzy. He rolls his hips up and grinds against him. Killer makes a strangled noise, and on the next roll of Dream’s hips, the head of his dick catches on his clenching entrance.

It’s almost enough. Dream cries at the edge he’s been teased on for too long. Killer is still struggling for breath, the evidence of his completion painted on Dream. He carefully slides back away from the risk of thrusting into Dream’s wet heat. Dream watches through tear-filled sockets as Killer gently pushes his legs down on either side of him and leans close, reaching for the knife. Within the next moment, the sharp blade is held to Dream’s throat, and three of Killer’s fingers find his clit and rub with intent.

Dream’s mouth drops open but no sound comes out. Killer swims before his vision.

“C’mon, th-that’s it. You’re almost there. Come for me, Dream.”

It’s an echo of Nightmare’s earlier command.

Dream doesn’t know if Killer uses it expressly to mimic his brother, but the effect on him is explosive regardless. He’s wired, chest tight with want, a gasping breath pulled in through his open mouth. The inhalation expands his ribs and pushes his throat up into the blade of the knife. It nicks against his bones, a perfect edge of pain paired with the burst of pleasure that pulses through his body as Killer works his clit relentlessly.

Dream crumbles. His body is already oversensitive from his orgasm in the foyer—topping it off with another so soon, so _intense_, leaves him gasping, tears spilling over his cheekbones. It wracks over him, leaving him breathless and shaking. Heat suffuses his bones, an all-over ache waiting at the end of it. When the next rub of Killer’s phalanges over his clit makes him flinch, Killer finally eases up, softening the pressure before removing them entirely and cleaning his slick-covered fingers off along the inside of Dream’s femur.

As he comes down from the high, it’s a little easier to focus on Killer again. There’s still a grin on his face, his eyelight soft and blurred around the edges, satisfied but exhausted. Dream itches with the urge to push himself up on his elbows and kiss him.

But then the tenderness of the moment disappears.

All at once, the knife is no longer held taut to his throat. Something dark at the edge of Dream’s vision yanks it to the side, dropping it off the edge of the mattress. Killer opens his mouth to shout but chokes, stiffening. Dream frowns, still slow to process as he recovers, watching with confusion as Killer’s eyelight shrinks to a pinprick, shaking.

It’s only when Killer is bodily ripped away from his position and slammed into the wall, Dream’s mind jumpstarts.

Soul kicked into overdrive, thundering loud in his skull, Dream notices the dripping tentacle wrapped around Killer’s waist. Nausea and surging panic twist in Dream’s chest as he follows the appendage to the figure standing a few feet from the bed, furious gaze locked on the skeleton he’s pinned to the wall.

Nightmare’s aura is enraged, his eyelight glowing a fierce, cold teal as he walks further into the room. As he does so, he reveals Cross behind him, an equally hateful glare on his face focused solely on the skeleton trapped by his brother. Killer gurgles, hands coming up to his neck as Nightmare wraps a tentacle around the sensitive vertebrae and squeezes.

“So tell me, Killer.” Nightmare’s voice is like ice, frigid and stinging. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing to my brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dubcon** wherein Killer breaks into Dream's room while he's naked and gets uncomfortably close, touching him and whispering suggestive things. Dream doesn't ever say no or try to push Killer away, but he also doesn't explicitly consent until almost halfway through the chapter.
> 
> \---
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER—Lyra and I cockblock everyone by not continuing from this scene and instead going back to what was happening with Cross and Nightmare while Killer and Dream got busy. >;3c


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💜🖤
> 
> (As with the previous two chapters, please keep in mind that this chapter also contains **dubcon**. Please see the end notes for details.)

Once Killer is gone, Cross needs several moments to catch his breath. Irritation wars with embarrassment inside of him. Killer is a bastard through and through, but somehow he always knows just what to say to get Cross riled up. This is far from the first time Killer has barged into his room, sweet words on his tongue and touch sinful and promising. It’s just ridiculous that even after all this time, Cross always ends up falling into his traps.

At least this go-round he managed to hold himself back. It’s a point of pride, really. Though if Killer hadn’t started spewing his fantasies about Dream out loud, Cross doubts he would have found the force of will to do so.

His soul twists as he remembers Killer’s words.

With a clearer head undisturbed by the other skeleton’s overbearing presence, he knows there’s nothing to fear from Killer. The asshole is a lot of terrible things, but he’s more of a flirt with a bad sense of boundaries than anything particularly obscene. He’s told Killer no before and had his answer respected—it’s just... _different_ when it concerns Dream. Cross can’t help the way he reacts, protectiveness surging up inside of him.

Logically, he knows that Dream is more than capable of defending himself. He’s as old as Nightmare, a timeless entity more than a monster. Dream’s been fighting and surviving for years before Cross was even an idea in his pseudo-father’s head. Still, the guardian’s sweet smile and soft eyes do things to Cross’s soul that he stutters through naming. Dream’s gentle disposition and careful touch unravel the worst parts of him, and Cross is helpless before the way it makes him feel. He’d defend Dream to the very ends of the multiverse if he had to.

He doesn’t, but he _would_, and Killer’s shameless suggestions had triggered his defensiveness.

In fact, the anxious worry and fear have yet to fade. It’s less Killer that he’s wary of and more Nightmare. He’d been under the assumption that there was something going on between the brothers for a while now. He’d noticed things changing between them the more Dream frequented the castle. It hadn’t passed his notice when Dream would watch his brother with a faint glow to his face or when Nightmare would let his touch linger for a moment too long to be something purely fraternal. Today’s display is just confirmation of a conclusion Cross had come to weeks ago.

The thing is, Nightmare is capricious. He’s temperamental.

It could be entirely possible that despite Dream returning Nightmare’s feelings, he hadn’t been ready to take their relationship to a physical level. And Nightmare... while he’s certainly never forced anyone that Cross can remember in all the time he’s been here, he’s always been a little irrational when it comes to Dream. Whether he means to or not, Nightmare has always pushed Dream to his limits. Cross has seen evidence of it in every argument and in every battle. That doesn’t necessarily translate over into cajoling Dream into sex before he’s ready but... the idea rests uneasy in his soul.

He has to know the truth.

Mind made up, Cross steadies himself against the wall, adjusts his rumpled clothing as best he can, and then strides towards the door. He opens it and quickly surveys the empty hall in case Killer is still straggling around nearby.

When all is clear, he sets out for Nightmare.

The castle’s stone corridors have never felt longer, stretching on indefinitely as Cross storms down them, winding around the corners as he navigates to Nightmare’s room. He’s not sure what to expect when he arrives, but Cross is certain that no matter what happens, he’ll give Nightmare a piece of his mind.

And if he finds out that Dream hasn’t consented to any of this...

Cross’s hand tingles with the urge to materialize his sword. He’s always been a bit headstrong, but nothing will spare Nightmare if he finds out that he’s been manipulating Dream. Cross will see to it that justice is dealt.

He supposes he could have approached Dream about the matter instead, but he has a sneaking suspicion that the younger twin would have just defended his brother, regardless of whether he had consented to a relationship or not. Dream has always had a soft spot where his brother is concerned. Too bad Nightmare is the type to take advantage of such kindness.

Cross passes the dining hall. A quick check confirms it’s empty. He wonders if Dust and Horror have purposely made themselves scarce, unwilling to linger while Nightmare and Dream messed around in the foyer. Chances are, they did the smart thing and left the castle entirely.

A grim smile works its way up Cross’s face. Good. The less chance Nightmare has to call for backup, the better. Cross doesn’t need any other distractions while he’s defending Dream.

After a few more confusing turns in the halls and ascending a grand, curved staircase, Cross finally reaches the double doors of Nightmare’s overly opulent bedroom. His fists clench as he nears, anger and concern and protectiveness surging within him. He doesn’t doubt that Nightmare has long since sensed his presence. The thought doesn’t worry Cross at all but instead adds a sense of urgency and determination in his step. He doesn’t bother breaking his stride as he reaches both hands out and pushes hard at the doors. The force causes them to fly open and bang against the wall.

Cross slows as he steps into the room. The massive bed catches his eye first, but it currently remains vacant, the covers and pillows neatly arranged. The seating in the room is also unoccupied. In fact, as Cross glances around, he finds no sign of Nightmare at all. The marble fireplace is unlit, and everything is pristine and organized and untouched, leaving behind no indication that Nightmare is even here.

At the corner of the room, the slightly ajar door of the en suite draws his attention, and Cross walks towards it. He doesn’t manage more than a few steps before a sudden, very definitive _click _sounds behind him.

Spinning on his heel, Cross gapes at the formerly open doors of the bedroom, now both shut tight. Nightmare stands before them, his hands on the handles and his back to Cross.

“I was wondering if you had lost your way while trying to find my room,” Nightmare says. He sounds entirely indifferent, unperturbed by Cross’s threatening presence in his quarters.

A sigh escapes the self-proclaimed king, and after a beat, Cross hears the door’s lock slide into place. His soul beats fast even as he braces himself, shifting into a battle-ready stance.

“So glad you could finally join me,” Nightmare says, and he looks over his shoulder, his grin wide and menacing. “Cross.”

“I trust you know why I’m here,” Cross responds, clipped.

“Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not actually a mind-reader. I just have an affinity for being able to piece out people’s motives based on their emotional state.” As Nightmare steps out of the shadows, Cross’s face flushes. The other monster is bare save for a pair of shorts hanging low on his hips. His tentacles are floating lazily behind him, the tips glistening with fluid that’s too golden to be mistaken as anyone else’s magic but Dream’s. Cross averts his gaze, heat curling low in his pelvis, reminding him that he’s still hard and frustrated from his prior interaction with Killer. Judging from Nightmare’s curling smile, he notices.

“That said, you’ve always been easy to figure out, Cross. Simple. Uncreative. Your emotions are a mess of jealousy, frustration and righteous fury. So, then, you must be here because you’re worried about Dream.”

Cross tightens his jaw, nonverbal as he glares at Nightmare, avoiding looking anywhere lower than his face. The monster takes another few meandering steps towards him, amused. “How cute.”

“What are you doing to him, Nightmare?” Cross ignores the purr in his boss’s voice. He especially ignores the way his still-hard magic flickers bright at the tone.

Nightmare fixes him with a level look. “If you couldn’t tell what I was doing to him from what you overheard, I may have overestimated your intelligence. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

“You _know_ what I mean!” Cross’s face burns for an entirely new reason, humiliation making his magic roil. “Are you forcing Dream into this?”

Nightmare’s sigh is long-suffering. “You’re going to have to be specific, Cross.”

“I’m talking about your ’relationship!’ Are you forcing him into it? Are you pressuring him for sex? Are you _hurting_ him, Nightmare?”

There’s a long moment of silence following his outburst. It takes Cross a second to realise he’s panting, anger potent enough to make his body tense, ready to spring. The effect of Nightmare's aura on him, no doubt. The monster in question's grin has vanished, a dark look in his eye and a darker thought lurking behind it. His tentacles are no longer shifting playfully behind him, instead curving up and over like they’re poised to strike.

“And what if I was?” Nightmare whispers, too quiet. “What exactly would you do about it, Cross? What _could_ you do?”

Cross doesn’t hesitate. He flings out a hand and summons one of his swords within a blink, leveling the sharp edge at Nightmare. The other monster’s socket narrows, but he doesn’t flinch.

“I _said_,” Cross snaps, “are you forcing Dream? Answer the goddamn question before I fucking kill you where you stand, you spineless piece of shit.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. Cross feels the clinical way Nightmare assesses him, parsing through his emotions and stripping him down to his core. The negativity in the air steadily climbs, and Cross feels the hand holding his sword begin to shake as it drains on his energy. He grits his teeth and glowers at the impassive monster before him.

Nightmare taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully. His head tilts to the side, eyelight studying the whole of him, and a slow, cruel smile emerges.

“Is that a threat you’re willing to follow through on?” His tone is soft and knowing. “Have you considered what my brother might have to say to you if you attacked me? Poor, lonely Dream, no longer part of a family. I wonder if he’d shun you entirely or if his despisement would force his hand against you.”

Cross tightens his grip on his sword even as the negativity presses down on him. He feels like he’s weighted by an immense emotional toll.

“I’d be doing him a favor. He’d be better off without you. Besides...” He braces against the unseen force pulsing around him. “I’m his family now.”

Nightmare laughs loud and free, shockingly amused by Cross’s words. The air feels like it drops in temperature all of a sudden, and Cross sees his breath the next time he exhales.

“_You_?” Nightmare giggles, a hand to his grin. The sight of it is mean and dangerous. “Do you really believe you’re worthy of such a title? To be welcomed into Dream’s arms as a replacement?”

Cross almost doesn’t hear the question as he strains against the negativity. It claws at him and makes his knees shake. He glares at Nightmare and sees two of him blurring in front of his vision.

“You are hardly worthy to even breathe the same air as him,” Nightmare says, laughter gone from his voice. He takes a step closer, and Cross’s sword rattles so severely in his grip that he doesn’t think he’d be able to take a swing at Nightmare now even if he wanted to. His skull perspires under the negativity shrouding him.

An oily black hand clasps around the razor sharp tip of the weapon and pushes it down. Nightmare steps into his space, and with his other hand, he cups Cross’s chin and forces him to look up into his penetrating gaze.

“You will _never_ be worthy of my brother like this, Cross,” he whispers. “You'd have to work for it. Of that I can assure you. And if you think your feeble mind can even begin to comprehend the relationship Dream and I share, then you would do well to remember your place.”

His grip turns bruising, and Cross gasps both at the touch and Nightmare’s condescending words. Despite himself, he feels his pelvis flare with a sharp bolt of heat. Nightmare grows silent, and Cross feels shame burning in his cheekbones. He squeezes his sockets shut and vaguely notes that his sword has dematerialized, unable to withstand the force of Nightmare’s power.

Cross can’t believe himself. He was supposed to come here to defend Dream’s honor, and he can’t even manage _that_, taken apart by so little. There might be an element of truth to Nightmare’s words after all. What kind of protector is he really when his own emotions can be twisted again him like this? Despair sits deep within his soul, overwhelming him with Nightmare's influence, making him quake.

Nightmare lightly brushes away the tears dripping down Cross’s face. It takes that motion for Cross to realise he’s crying in the first place. The other monster hums thoughtfully.

“Well, perhaps there might be some use for you after all. Why don’t you prove your worth to me, Cross? If you truly wish to show me how far your devotion for my brother goes...”

He leans in, teeth brushing the side of Cross’s skull.

“_Then kneel_. And maybe I will alleviate your precious, annoyingly misplaced concern.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Cross spits, holding his voice tight against the slow burn of his magic.

He’s angry, he’s upset. The negativity dense in the room makes his emotions bubble up, unrestrained. It makes him vulnerable in front of Nightmare, more tears spilling down his face even as he refuses to make a sound. It’s automatic. Instinctual and inevitable. He hates it.

The feeling only makes the monster in front of him that much stronger.

Nightmare’s eye flashes a bright teal, and in the very next second, two tentacles shove him down. Cross inhales, sharp, as his knees collide with the floor, pain jolting up the bone. He winces against it, and Nightmare drinks in his discomfort, still cupping his face.

“I’m doing you a favour, and yet you continue to be belligerent.” Nightmare runs the back of his hand down Cross’s face, making him shiver. The gentle touch only amplifies the dull throbbing of his knees and the ache of his soul, overloaded with poisonous thoughts, leaving him tender all over.

A tentacle winds around the back of his skull and then up towards his mouth. This close, there’s no mistaking the slick coating it. Cross stares at its proximity, eyelights going to pinpricks—the consequence of knowing exactly what’s about to follow.

Sure enough, the dripping appendage taps at his closed teeth. “Open.”

Cross wrenches his head to the side, snarling. It’s only a momentary reprieve. His disobedience makes Nightmare’s grip on his chin turn bruising, sharp tips of his phalanges digging in till they’re sure to leave a mark. Cross hisses in pain.

“_Open_, Cross,” Nightmare says, deathly quiet, “I won’t ask again.”

Cross barks out a short laugh, out of place enough that Nightmare doesn’t immediately take the opportunity to fill his mouth. The monster’s eye glitters in the dim light of his bedroom, candlelight flickering in warm orange hues over the oil-slick black of his form. Cross grins at him, bitter. “Or what? You’ll force me like you did Dream?”

The miasma of gloom in the air only gets thicker. Nightmare doesn’t say anything to defend or damn himself. Nightmare doesn’t _move_, staring at him with a carefully blank expression. Unfortunately for him, Cross has worked under his rule long enough to face down that nonchalance without yielding.

“That’s the problem with you, boss.” The title spills from him out of habit, his subservient position a reminder of his rank. “You never fuckin’ _ask_.”

His words are raw. They’re the kind of impudence that Nightmare never tolerates. He doesn’t regret them. Not even when Nightmare’s quiet looming turns hot and predatory, yanking Cross in closer.

“Would you like me to say _‘please’_?” Nightmare snorts. “It’s unnecessary when I can see the evidence of how much you want this.”

Another tendril lurches forward and tugs Cross’s shorts down, freeing his erection. Cross’s mouth snaps shut, embarrassment and humiliation colouring his face. The feeling pounds in his soul, overwhelming. It’s frustrating how into it Cross is anyways, his cock leaking as his interest is further incited.

Insolent, Cross rasps, “Yeah. I want you to say please.”

The fury in Nightmare’s eye makes his cock twitch and his body shiver minutely. It’s all he can do to bite back a groan at the sight of it.

“Oh sweet, stubborn, _stupid_, Cross,” Nightmare singsongs at him, rage fire-bright in his eye. “Only one of us will be begging by the end of this, and I think you know quite well that it won’t be me.”

In contrast to his words, Nightmare’s grip on him slackens, limbs retreating just a fraction. Cross stumbles forward, catching himself on his hands. He shoots a look up at the monster, thrown by the amnesty.

Nightmare watches him scramble from above, imperious. “Leave now, and I’ll spare you.”

Cross’s mouth is dry. Leaving would be the best option. He came here to demand answers and got nothing for his troubles. He still doesn’t know whether Nightmare truly forced Dream or not, the bastard as tight-lipped as they come about the issue, saying nothing either way. Worse still, Cross has somehow involved himself in something else entirely, shaking and debased in front of the other monster. If anything, it only serves to confuse him that much further.

Exactly what kind of relationship do Nightmare and Dream have in the first place that Nightmare can come onto Cross without fear of breaking what he has with his brother?

“... and if I stay?”

His words are rough and parched, wrecked already.

The smile that slices across Nightmare’s face is cruel, captivating in the worst sort of way. “If you stay... I’ll give you exactly what you came here looking for. I’ll give you what you _deserve_, Cross.”

It’s not a reassurance, it’s a threat.

Cross scoffs. “You don’t know what I deserve. You don’t know me at all.”

“Don’t I?” Nightmare’s unkind smile shifts into a smirk as he gazes low-lidded down at Cross. “Clock’s ticking. Make your choice.”

And therein lies the problem. Cross already knows what his decision is. He has a feeling that Nightmare knows it too but wants to see Cross flounder about in an attempt to hold onto the fragile remnants of his pride. Is he selfish for wanting this? The heat between his legs demands attention, and it’s even more embarrassing knowing that Nightmare can clearly see his desire. He _wants_ with overwhelming severity, and he’s not sure he knows exactly what it is he craves. All Cross is certain of is that the monster standing before him, kingly even in his sparse attire, can give him what he wants. What he needs.

The trouble is accepting that fact.

His chest heaves loudly with every breath. His face is wet with tears, forced out of him by the oppressive magnitude of the negativity in the room. It’s hard to think, much less to come up with the right words to say. He hisses out a sharp breath.

“I came here to get an answer to my question,” he growls, determined. “And I want you to t—”

A finger presses against his mouth, silencing him immediately. He blinks up at Nightmare, momentarily stunned. The look on the other monster’s face makes his eyesockets widen and his dick throb in anticipation, a reminder of his continued state of arousal.

“So you’ve made your choice,” Nightmare murmurs. “Excellent. I was hoping you wouldn’t disappoint me yet again.”

The tentacle previously held aloft to his teeth reappears in Cross’s sight. Mistakenly, he glances at it and finds himself transfixed by the splash of gold decorating the tip. It nears his mouth once more.

“Surely a simple taste wouldn’t hurt. You want it, don’t you? Wouldn’t you like to know what my brother tastes like?” The appendage taps against his teeth, insistent.

Cross keeps his jaw firmly locked, but he can feel his will withering away. He meets Nightmare’s heavy gaze, and a soft noise works up his throat without his consent. The grin he receives in response does nothing to diminish the persistent ache of his ignored magic.

Nightmare brushes a hand along the top of Cross’s skull and then forcibly tilts his head back, baring his throat. Cross shakes in place on his knees.

“I’m feeling generous today. Call it a sign of my good will… and the satisfaction I’ve received from fucking my brother.”

Cross snarls in response, attempting to dislodge his head from Nightmare grip, but the hand tightens around his cranium.

Nightmare continues on like Cross didn’t react at all. “I believe your childish stubbornness can easily be remedied with a slight _incentive_.”

He doesn’t see the other tentacle. It’s just suddenly _there_, curling around Cross’s dick and granting him much needed relief that he’s been denied for too long. It wraps soothingly around his burning magic, slick and dexterous, and then rubs with purpose. Cross’s mouth drops open as a thick gasp escapes him.

“That’s what I thought,” he hears Nightmare say, and the tentacle at his teeth slips inside his mouth, settling on his tongue.

He’s not sure what he expected—something salty maybe, Nightmare’s own slick mixed in with an oily aftertaste. Instead, saliva wells in his mouth as he tastes Dream’s sweetness. It’s nothing overpowering, not too much, just the perfect hint of candy apple. Cross’s tongue presses into it of its own accord, catching more of the taste.

“There we go.” Nightmare’s hum of approval makes new wetness drip from Cross’s cock. “Since you so thoughtlessly interrupted my shower, it’s only fitting that you lick me clean.”

Nightmare shoves the tentacle in further, choking Cross on its girth. The sudden jostling and near penetration of his throat makes Cross’s sockets water anew, and he glares up at Nightmare. The monster only strokes a thumb along his cheekbone with patronising patience, the other appendage still rubbing listlessly against his cock.

“Giving up already?”

He knows what Nightmare is trying to do, but he bristles at the challenge in his tone anyways. It’d be easy to blame this too on the negative aura in the room, but the truth is that Cross has been easy to rile up since he got into this mess of a multiverse, ready to brute force his way through all conflict. As such, he fixes Nightmare with a steely gaze and brings a shaky hand up to better grip the tentacle plunging into his mouth. Then, he works his tongue over the length of it, laving the underside of the tendril and swirling his tongue over the tapered tip.

“Heh,” Nightmare laughs, breathy, an unmistakable flash of lust in his eyelight. “How’s it taste, Cross?”

The reminder of Dream’s wetness being sucked clean off of Nightmare makes Cross’s face burn. Already the taste is starting to fade, and Cross’s soul twists awful and wrong when he realises that he’s disappointed. It’s disgusting, _he’s_ disgusting, but when he catches a lingering burst of Dream as Nightmare’s appendage curls around his tongue, he can’t hold back a low moan.

“Good, I take it?”

It is.

Shame boils hot in his soul as he wriggles his tongue against the tendril curled around it. Distantly, he hears Nightmare laugh again before the tentacle wrapped around his cock strokes him from base to tip, gliding wet against his magic. Cross chokes, the feeling intense as his abused magic is brought slowly back to the edge.

“Just look at you... you’re absolutely filthy, Cross,” Nightmare says, amused, and it hits Cross low and sinful. His fingers shake around the tentacle he’s still clutching, resisting the urge to grip it tight in response to the way Nightmare’s other tendril rhythmically jerking his cock makes his toes curl.

All at once, Nightmare retracts the tentacle in his mouth, disorienting Cross enough that he threatens to slump over onto the floor. He manages a few wet gasps as Nightmare steadies him, avoiding looking at the glistening sheen of his saliva on the tendril Nightmare uses to help him keep his balance. It’s a short breather, seconds later another curling appendage prodding against his cheekbones, this too covered in Dream’s sparkling gold.

“You’re not done yet.” The words are clearly intended to mock Cross, but there’s no mistaking the slight catch in Nightmare’s tone. He’s getting off on this as equally hard as Cross is.

The tentacle looms in Cross’s peripheral, taunting him with the promise of tasting more of the candy apple slick that’s already fading from his tongue. Spit wells in his mouth, and with it comes a rush of guilt and shame for wanting more. He feels his body slightly sag in defeat, Nightmare’s tentacle preventing him from curling on the floor and hiding his mortification.

Cross allows his sockets to slip shut and his mouth to remain open as the tendril nears. Nightmare presses it firmly against his tongue, coaxing him to lap up the slick, and with a soft moan, Cross savors the taste of Dream. He reaches up to grip the appendage like he did with the previous one, but he feels another oily tentacle wrap around both of his wrists. His eyes shoot open just as his arms are yanked behind his back and held tightly together. With renewed strength, Cross glares up at Nightmare and expresses his muffled protest around the thick tentacle in his mouth.

Nightmare meets his furious gaze, dispassionate.

“Something wrong? You seemed into it just a moment ago. You stayed for this of your own volition, remember?”

Cross breathes thickly as his wrists ache from the tentacle tightly twisting around them. There’s bound to be bruises left there as well, just adding to the marks Nightmare gives him, staking his claim. Cross carefully ignores the way a heated shudder travels down his spine at the thought.

Nightmare caresses the top of his skull. It’s a direct contrast to the painful grip around his wrists and the tentacle stretching his mouth wide as it flirts with the back of his throat. He swallows as much as he can around it and loathes the way he savors the distinct taste of sweetness. Unconsciously, his tongue curls around the appendage.

“That’s it, Cross,” Nightmare says. “This is where you truly belong. Before your king on your knees and begging for more like the disgusting creature you are.”

The words center right in his pelvis, dragging a pathetic whimper from his throat and causing his cock to drip further. The tendril wrapped around him strokes with teasing precision.

He can tell that almost all of Dream’s golden slick has been licked clean, and he tongues desperately at the tendril for more. Above him, Nightmare breathes steadily, but each inhale grows louder as Cross works the oily appendage.

“It's obvious that you long for someone to take control from you and leave no choice but for your complete and utter submission. You want to be _used_ and forced to think of nothing but serving, even as your body demands attention.” Nightmare thrusts the tentacle further into Cross’s mouth while the tapered end of the one around his cock circles the head and squeezes.

“How fortunate that I’m more than capable of giving you what you need,” Nightmare says, amused. “But whether I deign to tend to your pitiful desire is a separate matter.”

The tentacle in his mouth is taken from him all too soon. He gasps for air and stares at the tip that is now wet with his own saliva. The hand on his skull smoothes down to his cheekbone, and Cross follows its slight indication to look up.

“Please,” he manages, blurred vision focused on the way Nightmare’s socket widens in surprise as Cross gives in. “I…”

He pauses, confused and uncertain and desperate, and Nightmare cups his cheek so gently that Cross feels both lost and grounded at the same time. His eyelights flick down for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch sight of the straining erection in Nightmare’s low-riding shorts.

Something like urgency spills into his voice as the words flow out of Cross.

“I-I need it—I need more, boss, _please_. Just let me—”

His breath hitches, words cut off as the tendril strokes his dick faster, and his legs shift open even wider, hips thrusting into the motion and frustratingly finding no satisfaction.

“Shh, Cross.” Nightmare’s whisper is almost warm. Still stroking his cheekbones over and over, he leans close. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m going to give you what you deserve.”

It’s shameful the way Cross’s mouth waters as he hears fabric shifting. He’s like a dog, heeling for his master, anticipating a reward for his good behaviour. Knowing how he must look doesn’t change a thing. He remains where he is, kneeling on the floor as Nightmare brings his cock forward, gripping it from the base.

It’s weird seeing magic so close to his own colour. An odd disconnect when it’s not attached to his body. It’s weirder still to see Dream’s colour on it and feel a phantom throb in his cock, like he’s the one who fucked him.

The thought has no chance to linger, however, not when Nightmare rubs his dick up against the side of Cross’s face, making him shudder as the slick smears against him.

“Fuck, boss,” Cross breathes, just a few pitches too low of a whine.

“Watch your teeth.” There’s a purr in Nightmare’s command, pleased. Cross gets the feeling he was correct to fall back on titles.

Cross lets his jaw fall slack, Nightmare’s hand still cupping his skull. His phalanges twitch before gripping tighter and making Cross groan. Then, Nightmare guides himself into Cross’s open mouth and onto his tongue, pushing in far enough that it’s almost immediately too much.

Unlike with the tentacles, the first thing Cross tastes is unmistakably Nightmare. He’s all cider, a contrast to the familiar sweetness of Dream that coats him. The combination of the two of them is addictive, and Cross moans around Nightmare’s cock before he can stop himself. In response, Nightmare’s tentacle around his dick curls and rubs under the head, making Cross jerk in his restraints.

Nightmare’s laughter is low and amused, and Cross’s face burns hotter as it rings in the room around them. He forces his sockets shut to distract himself, zeroing his thoughts in on only the task at hand. He sucks on Nightmare’s cock, working his tongue as best he can without the use of his hands to aide him. It’s nowhere near a proper blowjob, nothing that can speak towards any skill, but Nightmare’s dick throbs against his tongue anyways, precome leaking into his mouth and flooding his senses with the taste.

“Swallow.”

Cross startles, blinking his sockets open and staring up at Nightmare, confused. His king looks down at him, eyelight blazing. When Cross doesn’t do anything, Nightmare thrusts into his mouth, making Cross gag, his hands wringing in the strong circle of Nightmare’s appendage behind him. Tears spring to his sockets.

Nightmare brings his second hand upwards, cupping Cross’s skull between two palms. The motion is deceptively tender. Nightmare looms over him. “I told you to swallow, Cross.”

The demand runs hot through his bones, his dick pulsing.

Keeping eye contact, Cross swallows.

Nightmare’s grip on him spasms, and Cross feels stray pride in making him stumble.

“Again.”

Cross follows orders.

His second swallow takes Nightmare a little deeper, the other monster hissing low. His tentacle retreats from around Cross’s dick, and the sudden absence of stimulation makes Cross whine needily. Nightmare ignores him, and Cross strains against his bonds once more.

He swallows again without prompting, magic hot and aching. It’s easy to lose himself in the moment, the taste of Nightmare thick and heavy on his tongue as he eases him deeper and deeper. By the next swallow, Nightmare’s cock slips into his throat, filling Cross entirely and making his sockets flutter, erratic. He gurgles around it, breathless, arousal surging when he feels Nightmare throb inside of him.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Nightmare says, but Cross is too far gone to judge whether it’s sincere or mockery.

He’s distracted from contemplating it any further when the stimulation to his cock returns, different from before. Cross shivers, frustrated as something thin curls around his dick and slinks up towards the head. It feels just the same as Nightmare’s tentacles, only on a much smaller scale.

“I have something for you that my brother also rather enjoys,” Nightmare murmurs. “I wonder how long you will last compared to him.”

Confusion fills Cross as he swallows around the heavy magic weighing down his tongue. Nightmare pushes deeper still, sliding further into his throat, and the distraction nearly makes Cross forget the promise in his words. The tendril wound around his dick rubs over his slit repeatedly as it smears his wetness. Again and again it swipes over the sensitive head, significantly more slick than the other tentacles. There’s too little pressure in the thin appendage, and Cross groans in desperation.

Nightmare thumbs away the tears running down Cross’s cheekbones. It’s the last thing Cross feels before all his attention is suddenly fixated upon the smooth tip of the tendril lightly pressing against his slit.

Shock hits him like a powerful wave followed swiftly by realization. He gapes up at Nightmare. The other monster gives him a conniving smile, and the thin tendril begins to ease into Cross’s slit.

“Mmn!” He chokes around Nightmare’s cock and breathes fast as the foreign sensation overwhelms him. It feels thick despite how small Cross had previously thought the appendage to be, and it stretches him in a way he’s never felt before. He’s hyper-aware of every point of contact inside his dick, warm and slick and intense. As the tendril slips down even farther, Nightmare lightly wiggles it back and forth, and Cross _moans_.

His tears fall unchecked now, noises flowing ceaselessly around the cock in his throat, and Nightmare curses. He begins thrusting shallowly, and Cross struggles for air. Nightmare’s hands shake as he holds Cross’s head in place.

“I knew you could take it,” he gasps, pulling Cross forward to force him to take the whole of his cock. At the same time, the tendril reaches the inside of the base of Cross’s dick, and after some tentative writhing, it rubs against a spot that makes Cross cry out, muffled. It thrusts ever so gently, but the feeling is maddening in the best way, giving Cross pleasure in incredible bursts. He feels like he’s been violently tipped from frustratingly teased to teetering on the edge of coming.

Cross trembles on the floor, his knees sore from having to remain in the same position for so long. He’s close, so fucking close, and the tendril rubbing and stretching his slit only heightens the intensity. He’s caught between deliciously burning euphoria and teasing pain. The urge to come builds, and Cross doesn’t think he can hold on for much longer.

He sobs around Nightmare. He’s never been so hard in his life, and it’s driven him to a state of humiliation and desire for more, wordlessly pleading for whatever Nightmare will give him.

“Hush,” Nightmare whispers. His voice is soft and encouraging, his hands cupped on both sides of Cross’s face and keeping his head tilted so that Cross doesn’t break eye contact. A stray thought of what it would feel like to have Nightmare’s cock filling his pussy and pushing him past his limits has Cross moaning raggedly. He thrusts his hips forward to no avail. The tendril wrapped around his dick feels like it pulsates even as it rubs inside of him.

He has the brief thought that though his mouth is full, he’s making too much noise, but the concern is swiftly chased out of his mind as Nightmare uses him. The pleased sigh he hears above his head nearly sets Cross over the edge.

“Yes, that’s it. Just take a little more, Cross. You’re doing so well. Just a little—_f-fuck_—” Nightmare growls, grinding against Cross’s tongue.

His breath catches, and that alone brings Cross a small spark of smugness. Surprisingly, Nightmare doesn’t seem to notice as he continues to thrust into his throat.

“Would you like to come, Cross?”

He attempts to remember how to breathe as his throat works around Nightmare’s dick. His sockets flutter. There’s the sound of fingers snapping, and Cross jolts.

“Eyes up here.”

Cross looks up, and Nightmare’s displeased frown shifts back into his mocking grin.

“Good boy,” he says, his gaze lidded. “You really are a lovely piece of work. I’m quite proud of the effort I poured into making you what you are today.”

Cross glares at him through his tears, but he doesn’t try to bite down. He knows better than that, knows that the consequences he would receive would be far too severe. Judging by the snide look in Nightmare’s eyelight, he knows exactly what Cross is thinking.

He leans down a little, making sure to keep Cross held in place, gagging around Nightmare’s cock. The thick magic in his mouth is warm and pulsing.

“Perhaps a better question isn’t whether you want to come or not because I’m certain we both know the answer.”

The tendril swirls around the walls of Cross’s dick, slippery wet against his slit, and Cross groans. Nightmare snickers unpleasantly.

“No, I think I have a better question for you.” His grip tightens around Cross’s skull, grin growing wide with malice even as his thrusts start to lose rhythm, betraying the loosening tether on his control. “S-should I _let _you come, Cross? Or should I leave you begging and desperate for hours on end with no reprieve? Or—_hhn_—m-maybe I should force you to touch yourself? And that way you can entertain all the sweet thoughts you want of my little brother while I watch you reach your degrading release.”

Cross is uncertain of the noise he makes, but shame burns in his cheekbones all the same at Nightmare’s breathy laugh. He hungrily drinks in Cross’s expression, something assertive slipping into the crook of his leer.

“No, not that either. I’ve got a better idea. But before we do that—”

Nightmare grinds against his tongue, a chaste moan escaping.

“L-let’s see what you look like covered in my come.”

Before Cross can even parse the sentence in full, Nightmare pulls out of his mouth, leaving Cross gasping wetly. His breaths come ragged, his throat raw. Nightmare’s tendril in his dick stutters through another thrust and Cross’s femurs ache with the urge to squeeze closed like it’ll help him. He’s disoriented, trying to ground himself without the use of his limbs. Saliva and precome pool from his open mouth, Cross’s face hot as he catches sight of it dripping to the floor, purple-tinted.

He redirects his gaze upwards, away from the evidence of his depravity, only to catch sight of Nightmare stroking his cock rapidly. The meaning of his words finally settles and Cross inhales, sharp, eyelights blown wide. Unconsciously, he leans forward just as Nightmare’s rhythm begins to falter. His sockets flutter closed.

Cross hears Nightmare swear under breath and then feels liquid coat his face. Over his cheekbones and nasal aperture, some just below his socket, mingling in with the tears still steadily flowing downwards. His soul squeezes and twists, and Cross moans, wriggling desperately.

He wants with such intensity he can’t bear it.

“Cross,” Nightmare demands, and Cross forces his sockets open again, looking up at him from below. Nightmare holds his gaze, an unreadable look on his face. A hand comes up to thumb away some of the cum right by Cross’s mouth. “Beautiful.”

It’s stupidly difficult to not let the stray praise get to him, his soul soaring.

He opens his mouth—to beg, maybe, to plead—but Nightmare’s grip goes tight around his wrists and yanks him backwards. Cross falls back with a shout, his skull saved from hitting the ground only by Nightmare’s tentacle behind him. It unwinds from his wrists and pulls his arms apart, another joining in to help pin each arm to the floor. A third appendage tugs his legs open and keeps his left femur pushed down, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. The tendril in his dick resumes writhing, and Cross hisses, tipping his head back with a loud groan.

Nightmare walks closer, the solid padding of his feet along the floor making Cross’s soul thud harder. “You’ve surpassed my expectations, Cross. Commendable.”

He can barely hear the other monster’s words now, the noise in his head too loud, a constant stream of want and desperation. His femurs tremble and shake, his wrists aching as he rolls them, clenching and unclenching his fists. He needs to come, he’s _going _to come, he would’ve _already _if it weren’t for the damned tendril still stretching out the walls of his cock, rubbing incessantly, filling him up and blocking off his release.

“Good behaviour should be rewarded, don’t you think?”

The sound Cross makes is half-delirious. “N-nightmare... Boss, I—”

“Shh,” Nightmare hushes, standing directly above him. Cross’s body is wired so tight, he feels like his bones will crack from the strain. “Remember, Cross. This is what you deserve.”

Nightmare raises a foot and presses it down on Cross’s cock.

His throat is too raw to scream, but the noise isn’t necessary when Cross’s whole body lurches like he’s been shocked with live wire. Nightmare grinds his heel down and Cross’s face flushes with heat, body twisting in its restraints. The smile on Nightmare is predatory, curving up on one side, teal eyelight electric-bright. He leans his weight into it, and Cross winces, panting, curving into the pressure all the same, craving the new stimulation, longing for it to take him over the edge.

All at once, Nightmare pulls the tendril in his cock out, freeing the path, and then Cross is coming so hard it winds him, tipped over rapidly enough that his mind can’t process the switch, teetering on the sensation. It’s so good it hurts, new tears spilling from his guttered out sockets. Cross’s vision blackens entirely, his breath leaves him, his whole body shuddering to a stop as he continues to come.

Nightmare grinds his heel once more and Cross keens, jutting his hips into it, involuntary. He’s oversensitive, he’s breathless, but he’s gratified, thankful deep-down as Nightmare keeps that pressure on him, working him through his lengthened orgasm.

It stretches on for an eternity, his inability to catch his breath sharpening the sensation.

Cross doesn’t recall passing out. His head feels fuzzy and light, and when he dazedly forces his eyesockets open again, eyelights flickering back to life, Nightmare is kneeling on the floor next to him, a warm washcloth passing over the side of his face.

Nightmare meets his muddled gaze, expression carefully blank.

“Are you alright?” Despite his impassive look, his voice is soft and fills Cross with a comforting warmth that he never anticipated feeling in his presence. The oppressive negativity from earlier has faded away into a background hum.

Cross takes stock of himself. His arms are still stretched out on either side of him, but he’s no longer restrained by tentacles. His legs are bent, femurs spread wide, and the satisfying ache in them makes his dismissed magic flicker with interest even in his exhausted state. But what rattles him when he lifts his head is the sight of purple cum covering his front.

He can feel the intense way Nightmare assesses him, likely receiving the answer to his question through Cross’s emotions. He makes a small noise of acknowledgement as Cross gapes at the mess he’s covered in, the slick undeniably his own.

“Ah, yes. I tried to clean most of what I could from your clothes, but it would seem that a wash is necessary to remove any telling stains.”

Cross glowers at the smirking monster. The worst part is he can’t fault Nightmare for any of this, not when he was begging for it mere minutes ago. His cheeks flush, and Nightmare’s smirk widens.

“All rested up then? Because I’m curious as to why you stormed through my doors some time after Dream and I had already parted.” He eyes Cross’s splayed form, and Cross presses his legs together despite what they just did. Nightmare snorts. “Was Killer unable to give you what you needed?”

The words freeze Cross in place, and Nightmare’s gaze narrows, giving Cross the full extent of his sharp scrutiny. He doesn’t push him to speak though, and Cross finds himself begrudgingly appreciative of his boss’s patience.

When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is scratchy and fucked out. Clearing his throat, he tries again.

“Killer said some things I didn’t like. Things about Dream. What he wanted to do to him and what _you_ were doing to him. It terrified me that you might be coercing him into something he didn’t consent to. I just had to make sure that wasn’t the case,” he rasps.

Nightmare is silent for a moment. His eyelight never leaves Cross’s, and the careful parsing of his words is evident.

“I see,” he finally says. “And what was Killer doing when you left?”

Cross shrugs. “I don’t know. He actually left before me, but I wasn’t exactly concerned about him. More so on just getting here.”

Another silence. Cross shifts uncomfortably on the floor and lifts himself onto his elbows with a grimace. The washcloth hangs forgotten in Nightmare’s grip, and Cross is tempted to take it himself to make sure his face is completely wiped clean.

Nightmare isn’t done with his questions though.

“What did he say about my brother? What alarmed you so much as to come here right away?”

Cross grows cold as he’s reminded of the terrifying delight in Killer’s words. His depraved fantasy still causes Cross’s soul twist, and he hears Nightmare shift restlessly next to him.

“_Cross—_”

“He said he wanted to force himself on Dream, _ok_?” Cross says bitterly. “Said it was his sick fantasy to tie him up and use him between the three of us, forcing him to take it like you forced him—”

Nightmare sharply inhales and rises to his feet all of a sudden, dropping the washcloth in his hand onto the floor. His tentacles come to life behind him, the points threatening in the low light.

“Where did he go afterwards?” Nightmare snaps. “Did you see which way he went when he left you?”

Cross gapes up at him, his jaw working.

“I— No, I didn’t, but—”

Swearing quietly, Nightmare’s eyelight loses focus on him, and Cross recognizes the familiar sight of his boss extending his senses to see through the castle in a way only the negativity allows him to. Cross watches him presumably search for Killer’s presence, and within the next blink, he stiffens.

“He’s with Dream,” he snarls, the negativity palpable as it reaches even Cross and makes him want to cower despite it not being directed at him. Even still, Nightmare’s words fill Cross with a mix of dread and fierce anger. But then something else flashes across Nightmare’s face as he remains attuned to Killer and Dream’s presence, something akin to horror or maybe even fright. Cross isn’t sure what it is Nightmare senses, but it spurs him into immediate action. With a wave of his hand, Nightmare summons a dark portal before him.

Cross scrambles to his feet, hastily tugging his shorts into place with one hand as he follows closely behind Nightmare.

He nearly plows into his back as the king stops shortly in place. Cross hears the portal close behind him, but he’s much more stunned by what he spies in front of his vision. Nightmare has taken them to Dream’s bedroom, and Dream is lying naked on his bed. On top of him sits Killer, straddling Dream, and his clothed state is hardly a relief. His shorts are tugged low enough to reveal his cock, and his cum is painted on Dream’s pussy and pelvis.

But even more alarming is the knife held to Dream’s throat and the tears spilling down his cheeks. Cross doesn’t try to suppress the rush of hatred and anger and _betrayal _that fills him along with a painful ache at the sight of Dream’s vulnerable state.

He trusted Killer. Cross _trusted _him.

Never mind the accusations he’d hurled at the other skeleton as they’d argued—Cross had been driven by worry and protectiveness, not anything particularly founded in logic. He hadn’t _actually _thought Killer would stoop so low. He was dangerous, yes, but to be _this _despicable? Cross never expected this from him.

It makes Cross feel sick, every memory of Killer’s touch on his body suddenly sharp and cutting. There’s a hurt, swirling nausea that churns within him, topped off with fierce regret that he hadn’t just gone straight to Dream in the first place. Above it all, however, is the desire to yank Killer as far away from Dream as physically possible.

He isn’t given the chance to act as Nightmare’s tentacles whip out, snatching the knife from Killer’s hand and tossing it aside. The very next two appendages wrap around his waist and throat, squeezing tight and choking Killer before they pick him up and slam him against the wall. Killer struggles against the tight hold as Nightmare steps further into the room, Cross on his heels.

His attention is all on the monster who would dare touch his beloved Dream. If Nightmare doesn’t kill him, Cross definitely will. He levels his murderous gaze at Killer as magic begins to burn in his hands, ready to fight.

Cross can only hope that after all of this, Dream forgives him for not stopping the monster when he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dubcon** wherein Cross doesn't explicitly consent to Nightmare touching him, though he later stays when Nightmare gives him the option to leave. They also do not discuss any of the sexual acts that take place, so Cross is taken completely unaware when Nightmare brings sounding into play, which is definitely not something you want someone surprising you with.
> 
> (Basically the last few chapters have wild consent issues y'all—just remember that it's fun to toy around with in fiction and we're telling you from behind the scenes that they're all cool with it, but obviously this is the sorta thing you gotta be clear about irl ;3)
> 
> \---
> 
> So sorry for yet another cliffhanger LMAO. But in the next and final chapter of ATOS, Type and I return with a wonderful balance of OT4 goodness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, we got fanart!! :D
> 
> A huge thank you to Neah-chan who did [**DreamMare from Chapter 1**](https://twitter.com/NeahChanArt/status/1211829188153499648) for us and to Cody, who did [**CrossMare from Chapter 4**](https://twitter.com/CoolCowboyCody/status/1207343322148298753?s=20)! Y'all are the best! 😊💖 Both links are nsfw, so please keep that in mind before giving it a peek~ ;3
> 
> (And if there's any other fanart floating around out there or that we've somehow forgotten, please let us know so we can link it! ;w;)
> 
> Just as a headsup, the beginning of this chapter is a bit heavy due to a misunderstanding between the four of them concerning consent. It all clears up shortly afterward though <3
> 
> **PHEW!** Anyways, here's the OT4 in a massive 14k+ update!
> 
> 💗🖤💛💜  


Nightmare is no stranger to negative feelings—he’s the King, through and through. It’s just different when he’s not looking at them from a distance, instead experiencing the emotions in a burst firsthand. Anger, at least, is familiar to him, thrumming hot in his core as he stares down at Killer and coils his tentacles tighter around him. The sounds of the choking, struggling monster curl ugly satisfaction deep within him. It’s bloodlust—another close friend, though he prefers torture as opposed to snuffing out a soul. Even betrayal he knows well, the hurt of a monster he trusted turning around and injuring something, some_one_, invaluable to him.

Still. It’s not those feelings that bother him most. It’s the muted emotions behind them all.

Regret. Guilt.

Nightmare doesn’t look back towards his brother. He can’t. Seeing Dream splayed on his bed, tears streaking down his face, makes even his heavily corrupted soul twist with a sickening intensity. Nightmare knows with sobering acuteness that this is his own fault. He should’ve been there to stop it. He should’ve been paying _attention_.

Instead, he’d been so busy fucking around with Cross that he hadn’t caught Dream’s distress.

He’d sworn to himself upon their reunion that he and Dream would be inseparable. That, this time around, things would be different. That he’d keep his brother safe, never giving Dream a reason to abandon him.

He’d failed.

“This isn’t going to end well for you, Killer,” Nightmare says, soft.

There’s no response from the captured skeleton save for a desperate gurgle as one of his vertebrae creaks under Nightmare’s constricting grip.

“Boss,” Cross interrupts, the fury in his soul another boost of strength to Nightmare’s aura. “Let me handle him.”

It’s a tempting thought. Handing Killer off to Cross and washing his hands of the intimate details of dusting. He’s rarely ended a life since his initial corruption—it’s not particularly something he takes pleasure in. He gains more power from the continued negativity of suffering monsters than the momentary burst of euphoria from a death. There's no angle here that will benefit him, nothing that makes it an appealing venture. Even more reason to be the one to do this then.

It’s atonement for his mistakes.

Killer’s actions are his responsibility. Delivering punishment falls under his jurisdiction.

“No. If you want to make yourself useful, go tend to my brother.”

He feels the way Cross’s emotions spike behind him, resolution and protectiveness accumulating, all interwoven with regret.

“Yeah, ok,” Cross agrees, and he approaches the bed. Nightmare steadfastly remains facing forward so that he doesn’t catch sight of his brother in his peripheral. He needs to stay as level-minded as he can for now. His tainted soul twists even still with desire to tend to Dream himself and comfort him, to make things better so that the hurt goes away. Nightmare can’t set things right—he’s much too late for that possibility, a cruel truth that causes his head to ring as he longs to pour out his self-hatred.

Later. He’ll have time to berate his own inexcusable actions afterwards, as well as give Dream all the care and attention that he needs. He won’t make the same mistake of abandoning his brother again.

There’s the sound of the bed creaking as Cross cautiously crawls up next to Dream. Nightmare braces himself for the worst. In front of him, Killer’s eyelight flickers back to life as he attempts to unsuccessfully grab his bearings. The garbled gibberish and gasps for air bring a grim smile of justice to Nightmare’s face, but he inclines his head towards Cross when he hears him viciously swear.

“He has a cut right down his sternum,” Cross says. Outwardly, Nightmare keeps his face impassive, but he exerts more force behind the tentacle around Killer’s spine. Rage boils within him, enhanced by the corruption and seeking an outlet.

How dare he. How dare this monster—someone whom Nightmare confided in and valued beyond measure, someone he might have even considered a _friend_—betray him. Death is almost too kind a punishment for one who’s wounded him so grievously.

“I trusted you,” he whispers, words intended only for Killer. The other monster stares dizzily back at him, eyelight flickering in and out as his magic strains against Nightmare’s power. He’s unable to speak, but then Nightmare is uninterested in the words he has to say. He wasn’t lying when he commended Killer for his silver tongue. Hearing him weave together a cunning defense is the last thing he wants to listen to. He knows nothing Killer says could sway him, but he also doesn’t want to give him the chance to act like he’s innocent.

Not after what he did to Dream.

Over the noise in his head, he hears Cross softly call Dream’s name, voice breaking. Nightmare blinks furiously and ignores the burning behind his eyelight. He is not a being who cries, and damned if he’ll let this traitor against the wall see him become weak now.

Quiet conversation continues, mostly just from Cross. When Dream mutters something back, his slurred tone sounds so very far away, but then there’s a sharp gasp, and the bed springs creak.

“Cross, w-what are you talking about? No, I wasn’t— _Night! _Stop it! Let him _go!_”

Nightmare allows his eye to slip closed as he sighs to himself. Even after everything that’s happened to him, even after Killer’s disgusting hands _touched _him, Dream still is gracious. His very being has always radiated with mercy and a willingness to forgive, even to the unforgivable. It doesn’t come as much of surprise that his benevolence would manifest now in a futile attempt to pardon Killer.

However.

Nightmare looks at Killer again and feels the fury shining through his eyelight as his remaining tentacles hover behind him, deadly tips pointed at Killer and ready to strike. It wouldn’t take much at all. Killer quite literally bears his soul to the world—an easy target that Nightmare intends to shatter.

“You can’t save him from this, Dream,” Nightmare says lowly. “Killer chose his fate the moment he laid his hands on you.”

“That’s not— You’re misunderstanding what happened here! Both of you!”

The bed creaks once more with the sound of Dream shifting off of it, and Cross protests.

“Dream, wait! You need to lie down. You’re still in sh—”

“Cross,” Dream interrupts, a definitive note in his tone that would have made Nightmare smile any other day. “I love you, but if you finish that sentence, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Well. _That _certainly shuts up Cross immediately, though whether it’s from Dream’s threat or his ill-timed admission is uncertain. Judging by the swirl of positive and negative feelings emitting behind Nightmare, he’d guess it’s a mix of both.

Regardless, Cross doesn’t try to stop Dream as he approaches Nightmare, the sound of the bed sheets rustling. A hand lightly rests on his shoulder, but Nightmare doesn’t look back. He can’t. The moment he looks at Dream might just cause the glass wall containing his emotions to break. Only the anger is keeping back the storm inside of him.

He distantly realizes that his chest is heaving with every breath as he struggles to keep himself in check.

Dream’s hand squeezes reassuringly. “Night...”

A loud gasp escapes Nightmare, thick and watery and unexpected. Fuck, he’s fine, he’s _fine_. He’s not crying. He refuses to cry. Dream shouldn’t be the one comforting him, it should be the other way around, what an absolute fuck up of a brother Nightmare is to allow such a thing to happen to the one person he treasures above all—

“Night,” Dream says again, voice still just as soft. The smile behind it is evident. “I’m alright, I promise. And I know how this looks right now, but I need you to let Killer go. Just...let us clarify things before you do anything rash. _Please_.”

He doesn’t want to.

His chest shakes with every unnecessary breath as his body tries to find some sort of equilibrium. His phalanges ache where he has them gripped into fists, clenched at his sides. He’s digging them into his palms, the sharp pain keeping him alert, keeping the emotions he refuses to acknowledge held back.

The night has taken a turn he never thought to anticipate, and his throat goes tight with self-reproach as he considers the true weight of his failure.

He’d planned for so many eventualities—being caught, being attacked, falling asleep in the aftermath. Even Cross’ approach he’d made provisions for. There had been no guarantee that Cross would choose this night, especially after the embarrassment he was sure to be feeling, but Nightmare had been ready for it regardless.

He’d been delighted when his preparations had paid off.

He’d known for a while now how the broad shouldered skeleton felt about his brother. Even more clearly, he knew how Dream felt in return. They’d talked about it in hushed voices, lying in Nightmare’s bed, Dream’s face flushing hot enough that he’d hid it in Nightmare’s chest as he confessed, his fists bunched up in the front of Nightmare’s hoodie. He’d smiled then, ducking his head down to press a kiss to the top of his brother’s skull. Nightmare had promised Dream that he would handle it.

If Dream wanted Cross, then he would have him.

Nightmare would just need to make sure he was worthy of welcoming into their union first. His own troublesome feelings he struggled with regarding welcoming another into their bed, someone _not _Dream… Well, he would just have to lay those aside and deal with them discreetly. His brother’s happiness was more important than Nightmare’s ridiculous hangups.

And after all that, after all the craft and cunning and foresight, he’d slipped up on the most basic of concepts. He’d forgotten where he’d come from. He’d shrugged aside what he’d learned after years and years of suffering that had broken him down until nothing of himself remained, leaving him alone to pick up the pieces.

There was no shortage of people that would let others down for their own selfish desires.

“Brother…” Dream tries again.

“I won’t release him, Dream.” His voice is like steel, no longer wavering. He notes the way Killer sees him at last, his single eyelight holding his as his attempts to escape slowly abate. Good. Let him realise there will be no evasion of justice here. “Your mercy is gracious, brother, but also undoubtedly naive and stupid. There are some things that are indefensible.”

“And if I asked him to do it?”

Nightmare’s grip falters, Killer bodily sliding down the wall with a muffled grunt before Nightmare rights himself again. His mouth goes dry. His soul kicks up into a frantic pace as Dream’s words register.

“What…?” says Cross from behind them, his footsteps slow and cautious as he comes closer. “What are you saying, Dream?”

When Dream doesn’t respond right away, Nightmare can’t hold himself back any longer. Finally, he looks back over his shoulder at his brother. Their eyes catch, burning teal with a clear gold. The grim set of Dream’s expression shifts into something softer, something understanding. Nightmare’s soul pounds restlessly, anxious and uneasy.

“If you won’t let him down, then at least let him talk, Night. Let us explain.”

_Us._

Let _us_ explain.

Dream said that earlier too. The repetition only drives home that the word choice is no mistake. Nightmare’s whole body trembles with barely there rage.

“_Fine._”

With a snarl, he flings his tentacles open, clattering Killer’s body against the wall even as he frees him.

Killer lands on his side, pushing himself up with a gasping breath. Black ink runs from his mouth and his sockets in excess. Nightmare watches, dispassionate as Killer slides a hand along the wall to balance himself, his free hand going up to his throat like he’s shocked there’s one still there to feel under his fingertips. “H… holy shit, boss.”

Nightmare slams another tentacle into him, knocking him back into the wall with a wheeze. Dream shouts something and rushes forward, nearly tripping over the sheet he’s wrapped around himself, but Nightmare holds out a hand to stop him. He needn’t have bothered. A quick look shows that Cross is holding onto him, whispering something reassuring even as he glares down at Killer. Satisfied, Nightmare turns back to the monster on the floor, withdrawing his tentacle but keeping it close enough to keep Killer behaved.

“Explain yourself,” Nightmare demands.

“It’s like Dream said,” Killer rasps, winded but getting straight to the point. “He asked me to touch him.”

“See, Night? This is all just a misunderstanding—”

“What about the knife?” Nightmare cuts in, searching through Killer’s emotions as levelly as he can, checking for any hint of hesitation.

“It was a kink thing. He wanted me to hurt him.”

Nightmare turns his head back at his brother. There’s a dusting of gold over Dream’s cheeks. He nods when Nightmare’s gaze falls on him, eyelights dropping down to the floor in embarrassment. It’s the truth then. Both Dream’s reactions and Killer’s unwavering aura prove as much.

It settles something in Nightmare’s soul. He’s still wary but calmer than before as he refaces the monster on the floor.

However, before he can resume his line of questioning, Cross’ voice barks out in anger. “Yeah? And did Dream invite you into his room too? Or did you just fuckin’ barge in like you always do? You seriously expect me to believe you stood outside and _knocked_?”

Silence.

Nightmare frowns. Neither his brother nor Killer speak up to clarify. While Dream’s muteness on the subject is telling on its own, it’s nothing compared to the surprising hint of guilt that Nightmare reads in Killer’s aura. Surprising not in that it confirms Cross’ words, but in that Killer feels it at all.

“That’s what I thought,” Cross scoffs, “How can we believe a word that comes out of your mouth when you won’t tell the whole truth? Especially after all the filthy things you said—”

“It was a fuckin’ fantasy, Cross!” Killer shouts, real irritation bleeding into him for the first time. Nightmare watches as he rubs at his throat where a bruise has begun to set in, a grimace on his face. “I _also _get off to the thought of _you _tying me up while I sleep, gagging me and then using me till I wake up helpless and crying, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t rip your dick off if you did it in real life without askin’ first, asshole.”

“You—” Cross’ face lights up faster than Nightmare has ever seen before. It’s impressive, but it’s a distraction from the matter at hand. “What—? I’m—”

“That’s… a very colourful description,” Dream whispers, breathless. There’s a glassy look settling into his eyelights like he’s considering the idea very closely.

Nightmare’s certain that they’re veering further and further off-topic with every passing second of this back and forth. The thought is only bolstered by the way Killer tilts his head at Dream with a wink, somehow still irrepressibly horny despite the situation he’s in. “I got plenty more where that came from, darling.”

Nightmare snaps his fingers.

“Everybody shut the fuck up.”

An immediate hush falls over the room.

“This has gone on for far too long already,” he says, quiet, “I’m finishing this. Now.”

No one interrupts as Nightmare beckons his brother forward. Cross startles, releasing his hold on Dream’s shoulders. His brother takes his place by Nightmare’s side, exactly where he should be.

“Did you let Killer into your room?”

“No, but—”

“Dream,” Nightmare looks at him. _Really _looks at him, all the emotions he doesn’t have the capacity to verbalise traded in the space between them. He can hear the way his brother sucks in a breath. He repeats himself. “Did you give him permission to enter your room?”

Slowly, Dream shakes his head. “No. I didn’t.”

Nightmare can feel the bubbling fury rising in Cross, his trembling visible even in just Nightmare’s peripheral line of sight. Curiously, he himself is calm. Whether that’s a sign of a storm brewing ahead remains to be seen.

“Killer,” Nightmare starts, but he doesn’t have to finish.

“I came in without warning.” Killer isn’t looking at him, staring down at the floor. “I figured he’d kick me out if he didn’t want me there.”

“That’s no excuse—!” Cross snarls, rushing forward.

Killer’s head snaps up, and with it, a rush of shame the likes of which Nightmare has never felt from the skeleton before. Curious. “I fucking know it’s not!”

The outburst is enough to stop Cross in his tracks. Dream trembles beside him, a hand reaching out to hold onto Nightmare’s arm. Whether it’s to calm Nightmare or so that Dream can steady himself, Nightmare’s unsure.

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come in without asking.”

Nightmare keeps his gaze fixed on Killer. Finally, his eyelight strays towards the skeleton’s soul, heart-shaped and pulsing in the center of his chest, not the target that it usually is. It’s not a form Nightmare’s used to seeing on him. He wonders if Dream did that, prompting Killer into lowering his defenses, bringing out a side of him that’s capable of being conscientious.

“Me ‘n Dream don’t have a precedent for this like I do with Cross. I screwed up by popping in here and propositioning him like it was fine and normal,” Killer says with a startlingly amount of clarity and reason. “What I did was fucked up and I’m… I guess I’m trying to say I’m sorry for it. But I promise you—I _promise_—I didn’t hurt him like that. I would never.”

Even if Nightmare couldn’t discern Killer’s intent behind his emotions, his words ring with truth. Killer stares up at him with remorse stirring in his soul. It’s clear that he understands his wrongdoing, and if Dream has already decided that no crime has been committed because he truly did consent, then...

Dream’s hand lightly squeezes his arm, and Nightmare sighs.

“Pull your shorts up for fuck’s sake,” he tells Killer. After a moment’s hesitation as Killer attempts to grasp that he really did just escape imminent death, he follows Nightmare’s order.

“Boss?” From beside Dream, Cross shifts uneasily, eyelights flicking between him and Killer. He still doubts Killer’s innocence, and in all honesty, Nightmare can’t blame him. He doubts anything Killer has ever said or done could truly be labeled as innocent.

Turning his head to the leery skeleton, Nightmare meets his narrowed gaze. “He’s telling the truth.”

He looks at his brother, and seeing those golden eyelights filled with relief convinces Nightmare that he’s made the right decision. No justice need be carried out tonight. The respite he feels from that alone is not entirely selfless, knowing that he won’t have more dust on his hands. He feels the corruption twist within him, loathsome at being deprived a kill, and Nightmare firmly silences it.

Dream smiles warmly, and his tender grip slides down Nightmare’s arm to grasp his hand instead. Nightmare allows him to intertwine their fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Killer shakily rise to his feet. Cross watches him with overt wariness like he expects the other monster to go on the offensive, but having the fight taken from him has left the grim skeleton awkwardly fidgeting in place as he searches for his next course of action.

Nightmare huffs his amusement.

“What?” Dream murmurs.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Stealing a kiss, quick and unseen while Killer and Cross stare each other down, Nightmare feels his breaths finally even as the threat dissipates in the wake of Dream’s confession. He can relax now. Dream is okay. His brother is safe and well.

That dealt with, it doesn’t take long for sudden realization to hit him, and he narrows his eye at Dream. Before he can ask the pressing question that demands to be answered, Cross speaks up.

“You should’ve knocked.”

Nightmare and Dream glance over at the other two who continue to remain at odds.

Surprisingly, Killer snaps no witty comeback. His aura still twinges with regret, a phenomenon that, paired with the steady shape of his soul, bolsters Nightmare’s confidence that his subordinate told the truth.

“I know,” he says.

Cross blinks, surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Killer to agree with him. He helplessly looks to Dream who gazes back imploringly. Within a few tense seconds, the fight starts to slip out of Cross’s shoulders, and he sighs. Nightmare can still sense the agitation in Cross’s soul, however, confused and angry and hurt.

Belatedly, Nightmare realizes that that might in part be a consequence of his own writhing burst of negativity from earlier, and Cross has yet to shake off the effects.

He’s looking for direction.

Nightmare mercifully chooses to allay Cross’s concern and spare Killer the righteous fury that the younger skeleton would unleash upon him. “Stand down, Cross. That’s an order.”

Cross turns his glare on him. “You can’t just let—”

“From my _brother_,” Nightmare smoothly clarifies, giving Cross a cutting smile that widens when the other flinches. “We’ve already established Killer’s fuck-up. And I believe Dream has more than clearly requested you to cease and desist. Regardless, need I remind you of your place so soon yet again?”

“I...” Cross flushes deeply, unable to hold Nightmare’s gaze as his eyelights flick to Dream instead.

“It’s like Killer and I said. I’m fine,” Dream insists. “I consented, I promise. Thank you for being concerned though, Cross. I appreciate that.”

A charming purple blush burns bright on Cross’s face, and he glances away.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Dream. Just doing what any decent monster should do.” The pointed glare he gives Killer does not go unnoticed. Killer rolls his eye.

“So,” he looks at Dream and Nightmare. His hands slip into the pockets of his shorts, faking a nonchalance that Nightmare can easily see through. It’s likely more for Killer’s own benefit, trying to recenter himself. His heart-shaped soul draws Nightmare’s gaze again—a statement to Killer’s feelings towards Dream. It would seem that his brother is able to soften even someone like him.

Then again, Dream has always had a conniving ability for sneaking into people’s affections without warning, a fact that Nightmare has obtained from personal experience.

He quirks his browbone at Killer who peculiarly flushes under his attention. Nightmare tries to ignore the distraction for now.

With great hesitancy, Killer asks, “Are we good now?”

In his peripheral Nightmare sees Dream look to him. He frowns.

“Not quite.”

Killer tenses, but Nightmare shifts his disapproval to Dream who blinks at him in surprise.

“Why were you and Killer fucking in the first place?”

Gold lights up Dream’s face. He gapes at him for a moment, wide-eyed and abashed, searching for the right words. Then, something clicks in his expression, and he frowns back at Nightmare.

“W-well... What were you doing with Cross? Because it certainly doesn’t look like you were just chatting!” He waves an accusatory hand behind him at said skeleton who chokes. “That purple wetness on his face definitely isn’t his own because I’d recognize that hue anywhere!”

Nightmare stiffens, and off to the side, Killer mutters, “Holy shit.”

Cross’s sputtering goes ignored for now. The way he frantically wipes his sleeve across his face for said evidence of cum is almost humorous. But Nightmare has more important things to focus on.

He sighs with exasperation. “You _said _you wanted Cross. I told you I’d take care of it, didn’t I? I intended on testing whether he was fit for you.”

“_W-what?!_”

“Quiet, Cross,” Nightmare says without looking away from Dream. “This doesn’t concern you.”

The assortment of noises spilling from Cross’s mouth are entirely incomprehensible as he tries to string together a sentence.

“W-well, I—! You—! I-I’m glad you’ve decided that fucking me somehow has nothing to do with me at all!”

At this, Nightmare smiles but doesn’t clarify any further.

His brother flushes, a small smile of his own beginning to show. He dips his head a bit in embarrassment, but his flattered state is clear in his expression and the fluttering of his soul. It’s filled to the brim with love and understanding.

“Oh,” he softly says. “I... That’s very sweet of you, Night. Thank you.”

Nightmare takes Dream’s other hand in his and squeezes them both. “Of course.”

“Was _anyone _going to tell me about this at some point? Am I the only one who feels left out?”

“Shut up, Cross,” Killer says without any bite. The weight of his eyes on Nightmare and Dream is heavy. “This is better than any of your cheesy romance movies.”

“Wh— you fuckin’ take that back right now, you bastard—”

Nightmare tunes them both out as he and Dream close the distance between them. Dream tilts his head, nuzzling against him and moaning softly into the kiss, hands gripping tight in Nightmare’s own. It feels good seeing and confirming that his brother is perfectly fine and has been this entire time. Nightmare will need to have a private word with him and then Killer later, but for now, he enjoys the gentle glow of Dream’s positive energy as it delicately bumps up against his own negativity. They’ve been together for such a short time, but already, Nightmare has grown accustomed to the feeling of the positivity orbiting him. Even as his own soul curls away from it, he craves Dream’s presence. Something tells him his brother feels the same way about him.

When Nightmare pulls back, the silence in the room is loud. He looks over Dream’s shoulder where Cross quickly averts his eyes, shame rising within him at watching them kiss.

“Cross.”

His subordinate’s shoulders tense, but he obediently looks back at him, wary.

“You’ve clearly heard the interest my brother has expressed in you. Whether you wish to pursue that interest is a matter I’ll now leave in your hands. However...” At this, Cross stiffens even more, the poor soul. Nightmare’s mouth quirks at the ramrod way Cross holds himself, looking ever like the soldier he has made himself to be.

Nightmare allows his voice to soften and says, “Despite what I relayed to you earlier, you have proven your worth when it comes to being with my brother. Your concern for his well-being here only enhances that point. As such, I believe you are more than welcome to join our bed if you so choose.”

The purple tinting of Cross’s face has yet to vanish, and his eyelights shake in his sockets at Nightmare’s words, shock and ecstatic disbelief among those shown in the myriad of emotions reflected on his face and in his soul. Killer stands there awkwardly, watching the proceedings with a blank look, though the twinge of jealousy that sparks up within him before he buries it is hard to miss. Again, Nightmare ignores it and the way his gaze begs to linger on the skeleton, focusing on Dream and his desire for Cross.

Tentatively, Cross says, “Dream?”

Dream turns, hands still grasped in Nightmare’s, and nods. “You mean more to me than I ever could have anticipated, Cross. I’d… _We’d_ love to have you.” He pauses for a moment, and Nightmare knows he’s reading the mood in the room. His eyelights meaningfully flick to Killer. “...Both of you.”

Killer sucks in a breath, a flush of his own manifesting. He looks from Dream to Cross and then to Nightmare, who finds himself unable to meet Killer’s eyelights. He can feel the heat of his stare but keeps his head turned towards Dream, brushing off the restless pounding of his soul.

“I see you’ve grown insatiable, brother. Collecting partners one after the other…” He trails off, and Dream flusters which is a pleasant distraction from other, more complicated things happening in the background. Nightmare longs to run his fingers along the golden flush that spreads across his face and dips all the way down his chest, teasingly disappearing underneath the bed sheet. He resists, but only barely.

“While I won’t deny that I enjoyed my time with Killer,” Dream says. “This isn’t about me.”

Cold understanding chills Nightmare, stiffening him quick. The slow emergence of a tiny, devious smile on his brother’s face is unmistakable. Dream gives him a pleased look, hands squeezing his in a sure way of stating that he’s not letting him slip away now. Nightmare grits his teeth.

Dream glances from him to Killer, whose soul is flickering back and forth between emotions. “Given how we know how Killer feels about you, Night, and the things we’ve… _discussed _before…”

There’s a poignant break in his brother’s words, during which Nightmare can feel Killer watching him with the faintest blooming of hope. He refuses to acknowledge it, his own soul twisting and squeezing in his chest. He can even feel Cross’s eyelights on him, curious about this secret that Nightmare only ever shared with Dream, following his brother’s admission of how he felt for Cross.

“Besides, I found out that he presents a...really compelling argument with his hands.” Dream’s blush flares brighter at that. When Nightmare risks a quick glance at Killer, he sees him wink back at Dream, and Cross snorts. Nightmare remains silent, and Dream searches his face before looking him square in the eye.

“We’ve spent centuries denying ourselves what we want,” his brother says, still gripping his hand tight, stroking it gently with his thumb. “We don’t have to do that anymore, Night. Neither of us do.”

“Dream,” he warns, but his brother just smiles at him, sockets half-lidded.

“And with that in mind, I believe that you two would be rather compatible, especially considering how Killer is very, _very _sweet with his words.”

The tease makes slow heat crawl up Nightmare’s neck. There’s a two beat pulse of confusion emanating from Killer’s aura that rapidly tumbles over into understanding. The feeling only makes Nightmare wants to sink into the floor, a glow threatening to spark in his cheekbones.

“He’s appreciative, Night. Silver-tongued, like you always said,” Dream continues, face blushing a little brighter, knees pressing inwards as he bunches up the sheet over his pelvis. “In more ways than one.”

Hesitant but curious, Nightmare follows the motion down and then finally, _finally_, looks properly back towards Killer. It’s only then that he notices the faint smattering of golden smeared across his mouth. Killer catches his eye and gives him a shaky little grin. Nightmare sees an even fainter trace of purple across his teeth.

_Oh_.

The heat along his neck travels both ways along his spine, sending a hot rush to his face and to his pelvis. He’s fortunate that the thick sludge of negativity shrouding his body keeps the glow from being immediately visible. Despite how recently he’d gotten off—and for the second time, no less—his magic sparks with interest, a warm haze gathered in his inlet. The perks of having an excess of energy gathered through the consumption of forbidden fruit.

He’d been wondering just how far Killer had gone with his brother. Whatever brief irritation he’d felt upon discovering he hadn’t been consulted before this little liaison clears up instantly at the idea of Killer begging to taste where he’d been just minutes earlier. Nightmare’s tendrils drip and writhe behind him as he continues to stare Killer down, wordless.

The skeleton’s soul flickers erratically, grin faltering. “...Boss?”

“Later.” He needs a moment to think. To consider. For now it’s easier to simply face Dream once more. “While I… _appreciate _your sentiment, brother, I think you ought to go unwrap your gift. He’s getting impatient.”

Cross glowers at him yet again, though the conversation seems to have softened it somewhat. Nightmare meets his gaze head on. He’s half-expecting the skeleton to say something, but predictably he falls silent when Dream’s golden eyelights fall on him with deliberation. All at once, Cross’s expression melts, and Nightmare is further reassured of the decision he’s made.

Regardless of how often he and Cross butt heads, the monster’s affection for Dream, at least, is genuine.

Dream squeezes Nightmare’s hands in his, leaning in to peck his cheek before letting go and walking slowly towards Cross. The sheet caped around him drags across the floor, making the corner of Nightmare’s mouth twitch at the comical image it makes. Dream, waddling forward like a child at a sleepover while Cross looks at him like he’s starlight personified.

_Idiots_, Nightmare thinks with an indulgent twist of his soul.

“Hey, Cross...” Dream is apologetic from the get-go, voice low and an embarrassed flush to his cheekbones. “Sorry about all this.”

“No, no, it’s… fine. It’s not like it’s your fault or anything, it’s just... it’s, uh.”

“It’s a lot.”

Sheepish, Cross nods. “Yeah.”

Nightmare watches the two of them carefully from the sidelines, overseeing the budding of their new relationship. He hears shifting behind him, a quick check into Killer’s aura revealing just as much curiosity in him as Nightmare feels himself. The skeleton takes a few hesitant steps closer, and Nightmare allows it. Dream and Cross remain engrossed with each other.

“It’s crazy, I…” Cross laughs, a little frazzled, “When… when I imagined confessing how I felt about you, it was never like this. Not even close.”

Dream clutches the sheet tighter around his shoulders. “You planned on confessing?”

“I did… I wasn’t expecting you to feel the same or anything, but, you know, it was something to think about. It, uh… it put a smile on my face. It was nice, thinking about the two of us alone on a quiet night…” Cross trails off, eyelights falling down to the side, the deep purpling in his face fading to something softer, more muted. When he drags his gaze back up again, his smile is wry. “At the very least, I figured I’d buy you dinner first.”

Nightmare snorts. His brother laughs.

“Smooth,” Killer commentates as he walks up beside him in a whisper only the two of them can here. Nightmare acknowledges him with a smirk but directs his attention quickly back towards the scene unfolding before them lest Killer’s proximity distract him further.

He’s just in time to see Dream walk a few steps closer, right into Cross’s space, and take Cross’s hands in his own. The usually stoic skeleton’s sockets go wide, tensing up instantly. Nightmare can see Dream rub circles into the back of Cross’s hands, beaming up at him while Cross stares down, entranced.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, Cross,” Dream smiles, freeing a hand to reach up and cup the side of the other monster’s face. “It just has to be ours.”

The surge of warmth and soft, heartfelt affection that floods from Cross is palpable. It’s a sweetness Nightmare can taste on his tongue, melting like the chocolate Cross squirrels away for himself. Killer whistles low, impressed, and Nightmare agrees with the sentiment. His brother has a charm unmatched by any in the multiverse. He always knows just what to say.

Cross’s eyelights are soft and hazy, but some hesitance lingers in them still.

“Dream… listen, I… this isn’t—” He takes a breath and starts again. “I want to be clear. I didn’t want to confess just to start something physical. I… I’m in love with you.”

It’s not a startling revelation. After the months of hopeful glances and abashed smiles, hearing Cross admit his love for Dream is unremarkable. Expected. And yet, the words roll over Nightmare with a force strong in its sincerity and intent, a beacon of positivity that he would shun in any other scenario. Instead, he welcomes the warmth that fills him at hearing Cross’s love for his brother.

Dream’s reaction is no less stunned. He draws in a quick breath, and while Nightmare can’t see his face, he knows that Dream is smiling wide and ecstatic at Cross who gives him a flushed, pleased grin in return.

His brother chooses his words carefully. “I know you are, Cross. I’ve known that for awhile actually, and I... I feel the same way about you.”

Cross jolts, and Dream smoothes his thumb along his cheekbone. His sheet has begun to slip down his shoulders, exposing his spine, and Nightmare catches a glimpse of the brilliant gold of his soul. His brother’s affections are of no doubt genuine.

“I love you, Cross,” Dream says with unparalleled certainty. “And I’d like to show you how much I love you if you’ll have me.”

“Hot damn,” Killer says under his breath. “He really knows how to ask for what he wants.”

Nightmare smiles as Dream whispers something that only Cross can hear. Based on the intensity of the seemingly permanent purple flush on the other’s face, Cross is quickly finding out just how open and willing Dream can be when he wants something.

“He’s always been like that,” Nightmare proudly whispers back, gaze fastened on the tentative way Cross cups Dream’s face. “Headstrong and bold in his desires. Though he can sometimes be a bit too bold for his own good.”

Killer makes an inquisitive, intrigued noise, but Nightmare’s attention is directed entirely to the tender moment unfolding before him.

“Dream,” Cross says, hesitant. “Are you sure? I don’t want... You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’m sure,” Dream remarks confidently, “because I’d be with you, and that’s all I could ask for.”

“Oh,” Cross says, eyesockets wide, pure happiness flowing from his aura. “T-that’s...”

“I’d like to kiss you if that’s ok.”

“S’fine,” Cross says weakly, his face soft with emotion. Dream shifts up onto the tips of his toes, and Cross meets him halfway. Their kiss gives Nightmare a deep-seated satisfaction alongside a thrill of heat that stirs in his pelvis. He longs to join them but refrains. This is between Cross and his brother right now. It’s more than enough of a reward seeing these two people he’s come to care for find fulfillment in each other.

“Are you blushing?”

Nightmare flinches and peers at Killer out of the corner of his eye. The skeleton stares at him intensely.

“...What?”

Killer leans in closer, and Nightmare resists the urge to tilt back just as far to keep his distance. Killer peruses his face with sharp scrutiny, and then a slow, delighted grin appears.

“You _are_,” he says with awe, laughter in his voice. “Heh, getting a little flustered there, boss?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nightmare whispers sharply back, but he doesn’t step away to reclaim his space. Against all odds, he finds himself...wondering. He thinks to what Dream said, about denying themselves for centuries. He keeps his eye on Killer.

Killer makes an amused sound, and his eyelight trails down Nightmare’s body in such a way that he struggles to repress a shiver. He’s swiftly reminded of his own state of undress, clad only in a pair of shorts that Killer can most certainly see down at this proximity. His face flames at the realization, and the heat between his legs responds accordingly.

“Looks like it,” Killer remarks with no small amount of smugness, gaze fixed pointedly on Nightmare’s flushed pelvis. His eyes trawl back up to Nightmare’s leisurely, dragging slow like a touch along the exposed vertebrae of his spine. The pulse of arousal Nightmare feels from him is staggering. He inhales shakily.

“Y’know,” Killer drawls in a low voice, “We never did finish what we started a while back. Remember?”

There’s no question concerning what Killer is referring to.

Long before he’d reconciled with his brother, Nightmare had found interest elsewhere. The memory of Killer’s touch under Nightmare’s clothes, exploring the curve of his ribs as he nipped along the side of his neck—it all plays out in his mind as if it happened yesterday.

Unfinished business.

Killer steps infinitesimally closer, and Nightmare berates himself for glancing away at the sheer lust in his expression. It’s a providential distraction, however, when he looks over just in time to see Dream encouraging Cross to stumble back until he’s sitting on the bed, still locked in a kiss that is rapidly turning passionate. Dream climbs up onto Cross’s lap, arms wrapping around his neck while Cross grabs ahold of his hips. Twin moans escape them as Dream grinds down, the sheet pooling at his waist.

“They sure make a pretty picture.”

Nightmare looks back at Killer who’s also watching them. He must sense the shift in Nightmare’s attention, turning his head to face him again.

“Seems a shame to let such inspiration go to waste.”

Nightmare narrows his eye and smirks. “Are you asking me to fuck you, Killer? And here I thought with all of that charisma, you just took what you wanted.”

Killer doesn’t back down from the challenge, grinning wide and making Nightmare’s smile slip.

“Oh? Why didn’t you say something, boss?” Without warning, Killer grabs him, hands clasping his upper arms tightly. Nightmare gapes as he’s pulled close, and Killer leers down at him.

“If you wanted me to take you, all you had to do was ask.”

Within the next second, Killer lifts him with surprising ease, pulling a startled yell from Nightmare. A blink later, he’s slammed onto the bed, gasping, and Killer crawls on top of him.

He vaguely hears Dream yelp, likely dislodged from Cross’s lap at the sudden movement, but all other thought is chased out of his mind as Killer pins him to the bed with a firm hand against his sternum. He stares bewildered up at him, soul pounding and his tentacles writhing. The realization of their positions sends a dizzying rush of heat to his face and pelvis.

Killer’s grin hitches wider. “Knew that picture was missing something. Now it’s even prettier.” Nightmare grits his teeth at the traitorous blush he can feel burning across his face. Killer’s other hand rests against it, fingertips cool where they touch his cheek.

“Seeing as how we couldn’t indulge ourselves before...” Nightmare struggles to move against the sheets, and Killer presses down harder on his sternum, exhibiting his strength in the way he keeps Nightmare from moving, which causes another burst of need to sear between his legs. Killer looks back at him, undaunted.

“I’d like to continue where we left off so long ago. Right here. In front of them.” He tips his head at Dream and Cross, and the sharp intake of air that follows is undoubtedly Dream’s. Desire and longing seep from him and Cross, and Nightmare feels the bed dip as they shift closer.

He doesn’t look away from Killer.

The monster keeping him pinned like a bug stares back with a severity demanding of Nightmare’s full attention, grin wide with promise. His legs press tight around his hips as he looms over him.

“Is that alright, Nightmare?”

He glances down at Killer’s soul again. It maintains its form, a steady heart pulsing red with a thin band of white within it. Nightmare swallows, dry. Usually, Killer’s soul would’ve destabilised by now. It would have gone back to its erratic target shape upon touching him, draining Killer of his empathy and any trace of compassion entirely. Is it Dream’s presence nearby that tempers Nightmare’s effect on him?

Like this, do they keep a balance? Enough that Killer is more himself than he ever is in Nightmare’s presence alone?

His extended silence makes Killer’s lazy smile go hesitant. Nightmare can read his intention to pull away before he moves, so he threads a tentacle out from under his body to coil around Killer’s femur. He uses it to tug the other monster subtly closer, pleased when his message is received and Killer’s aura calms.

He wraps another two tendrils carefully around Dream and Cross’s wrists each.

“Not here,” he whispers.

There’s a pulse of confusion, swiftly cut off by shouts of surprise as Nightmare wills a portal into formation underneath the four of them. They fall straight down, like the bed drops out beneath them, suddenly weightless. Though it doesn’t last long, disorientation radiates off of them, and Nightmare knows his hold on the others is what keeps them in place.

They all land with a soft bounce on top of his bed, the blanket cool under his heated bones and the mattress spreading out wide in either direction.

“We need a little more space,” he finishes, retracting his tendrils.

Dream laughs quietly to his side, breathy and delighted. Nightmare’s mouth quirks into a grin, keeping eye contact with an increasingly bemused Killer.

“What the fuck, boss,” Cross says, “Did you plan this? Is this why your bed is so damn huge?”

“As much as I would like to claim credit for having this whole situation penned out in detail, it’s really not that deep. I just like having a big bed.”

Cross makes a noise, skeptical, but before he can say anything further, it’s muffled into a startled moan. Nightmare can hear the wet sounds of his brother kissing Cross beside him, the two of them quickly kicking back the covers, and the urge to look heightens. But Killer is watching him with a peculiar expression, something that borders calculating, and the look is unfamiliar enough that Nightmare’s focus is arrested by it.

“What?” His question falls short of demanding, the damned restless heat from earlier making him shivery and far too quiet.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

Nightmare’s next inhalation stutters, flush creeping up his neck. He hasn’t forgotten the smile on Dream’s face when he’d promised how _sweet _Killer could be with his words. Nightmare isn’t fool enough to mistake what he meant—Dream is the only one who truly knows these little details about Nightmare, his weak points. He’s the only one who could tease him about something like this.

“I do, actually. I’ve been told before.” Though his words are wry, his breath catches anyway when Killer only grins and leans in closer.

“Glad to hear it,” Killer says, the heat of his body warming Nightmare all over as he presses him further into the bed. “You deserve to be reminded over and over.”

Nightmare’s soul pulses hard, starting to drip as emotion courses strong within it. Distantly, he thinks he hears Cross say something to Dream—another question about his comfort perhaps. It would certainly be like him, especially with the way Dream’s response tinges reassuring and soft after it. But he misses the words entirely, can’t hear them at all when Killer dips his head down to the side of his jaw.

“I wanna make you feel good, boss.” Killer’s soft panting is hot against the semi-liquid form of his body. The disparity makes Nightmare shift against his blanket, unable to twist far when Killer continues to hold him down. “I wanna make you come.”

For a brief, panic-induced moment, he thinks of flinging Killer away from him. Despite how good it feels to be held down, everything is on the edge of tipping right over into too-much. He’s not used to letting someone else take control.

Then, Killer says, “I wanna be useful to you.”

Just like that, Killer’s admission helps to ease the uncertainty in Nightmare. The submission settles him, calms the sudden spike of anxiousness as Killer stares him down. It’s easier, after that, to tilt his head towards him and meet his heated look head on. He can’t quite manage the words right then, but it’s simple enough to capture Killer’s mouth in a kiss, licking across his teeth and slipping into his mouth as he parts them open.

Killer moans into the kiss as he sucks on Nightmare’s tongue. They’re both quick to join Cross and Dream in pushing the covers out of the way, lying on the soft sheets underneath instead. They meet in another kiss, the minimal space between them quickly turning heated. The weight of Killer’s hand returns to his sternum while his other hand trails across his ribs, catching on each one as it makes its descent down to his lower spine. Killer stops just above the waistband of his shorts and rubs his thumb in frustratingly light circles. Huffing, Nightmare slips his hands under Killer’s stupidly soft sleeveless turtleneck and begins to tug the fabric up to bare his spine. He’s eager to reclaim at least some control, to make Killer as equally desperate for his touch.

Killer laughs into the kiss, and Nightmare pulls back.

“Did you need a signed invitation or something?”

Snickering, Killer drops a kiss on Nightmare’s cheekbone. “Nah, I just wanna take my time.” His thumb still rubs those teasing circles just above Nightmare’s pelvis. Glowering, Nightmare hooks his legs around Killer’s back to flip them over. He gasps when his attempt fails, Killer gripping his spine tight and settling his full weight against him. Killer sweats as he shakes under the force of resisting and holding him down. The demanding power in his grip sends a sharp bolt of heat through Nightmare that shoots down between his legs and pulses in his pubic symphysis, dragging from him a breathy sound that borders on a moan.

He’s not going anywhere.

Stunned, Nightmare slowly lets his legs fall, knees spread wide. Killer eases up on the pressure and smiles encouragingly.

“It’s ok, boss. You can trust me. Let me take care of you.”

Chest heaving, Nightmare stares up at him with what he feels is too open of an expression. He wants with great urgency to let Killer have his way. To give him the attention his body craves. It’s just that Dream is the only one who has ever seen him like this. He’s the only one who’s ever been allowed to take control, to allow Nightmare a short reprieve where he doesn’t have to think. During those moments, he just has to listen to his brother and feel. And even then, those times are rare as the need to retain control and provide for Dream like he’s always done sits at the forefront of his thoughts.

Judging by the sudden dip in the bed and the sound of Dream gasping, he’s being more than taken care of. Cross groans a second later, and there’s the distinct sound of clothes hitting the floor.

Nightmare knows that this time is different. He doesn’t need to be the one in charge because Cross is already tending to Dream. And Killer...

His heart-shaped soul flares with assurance and promise. Something else lies beneath that, but it’s far too soon for Nightmare to peruse that particular emotion now. He looks up at Killer’s face again.

Exhaling slowly, Nightmare finally relents and nods. The relieved grin he receives is almost enough to soothe away his worry entirely.

Killer presses a kiss to Nightmare’s sternum, never looking away.

“Good,” he says. He then sits up and shifts forward until he’s straddling Nightmare, pelvises pressed together. Nightmare isn’t surprised to feel the hot shape of Killer’s magic against him, but the direct contact against his sensitive symphysis forces him to swallow back a groan. His hands slide down the back of Killer’s ribs, and Killer follows the suggestion in his gaze, reaching up and tugging his shirt off.

The sight of scarred bone beckons Nightmare to touch, and so he indulges himself, feeling out the scratches and nicks. Killer watches him intently, patient with his exploration.

A loud moan just next to Nightmare causes him to startle, and he glances over to see Dream right next to him, panting.

“Hh— Cross... Nnh—” Dream moans as Cross silences him with another kiss while his hand rubs between Dream’s legs. When Cross slips a finger into him, Dream keens, and Nightmare’s mouth wells with the desire to have his brother’s taste on his tongue.

He feels a hand cup his chin, the other wrapping around both of his and lightly tugging his hands free of Killer’s ribs. Killer turns his head back to face him.

“I want to see all of you,” he says, leaving a kiss on Nightmare’s knuckles. He lets them go and then shifts down until his hands hook in Nightmare shorts. Once he pulls them off, Killer tosses the shorts aside and stares heatedly at Nightmare’s flushed pelvis. His grin stretches wide across his face, and Nightmare resists the urge to cross his legs like a blushing virgin, laid bare by his scrutiny.

Killer leans down, and Nightmare’s mouth parts when he feels Killer’s tongue glide against his pubic symphysis. He does it again, wet heat dragging along bone, and Nightmare fists the sheets in his hands. His legs tremble as Killer switches to sucking on the almost painfully sensitive area, chuckling when Nightmare jolts.

He gives him a brief reprieve, glancing up and breathing purposely against Nightmare’s pelvis to see him shiver. Bastard.

“C’mon, boss. You’re smart. You know what I want.”

Nightmare can’t help but snort. “I thought this was about what I wanted?”

“It is,” Killer says, gaze fixed and excited. “This is all about you. And I’m asking you to give me what you want because it just so happens that it’s what I’ve wanted for a long time too. I’m gonna make you come, and you’re going to be gasping and desperate, clawing at the bed as I fuck you.”

It’s not loose conjecture. Killer means what he says, intent bright in his eye in a way that makes Nightmare want to pull him flush and grind against him. He flashes a taunting smirk.

“Quite a tall order. You sure you can live up to such bold words?”

“Watch me,” Killer says, his eyesockets lidding.

Within moments, he tugs his own shorts off, and then he’s back to crowding Nightmare against the bed, his cock rubbing against Nightmare’s throbbing pubic symphysis. Nightmare clenches his teeth as Killer rocks against him, hands braced on either side of his head. His devious grin is impossible to look away from.

The slick noises next to Nightmare grow increasingly loud as Cross stretches Dream open. His brother gasps for air and pleads for more. Whatever response Cross gives is drowned out by the overwhelming press of Killer’s teeth to Nightmare’s, light and gentle. It stirs something within him and drives Nightmare to lash out, frustrated.

“I’m not made of glass,” he protests. The words are almost lost when his breath hitches as Killer rolls his hips.

Killer grins. “Maybe I want you to ask for what you want.”

“You want me to beg?” Nightmare snaps. The biting tone has no effect on Killer though, save for the way his eyelight shines, bright and interested.

“No,” he says lowly. “Tell me how to serve you.”

_Oh_. That’s…

Nightmare is unprepared for the way the words affect him, a sharp burst of need coursing through him and causing his cunt to snap into shape. Killer’s dick rubs right along his folds, and the sensation causes them both to moan. Nightmare’s head tips back as the sound spills from his throat. He catches sight of Dream coaxing Cross’s shorts off of him, the final piece of clothing. Cross sits between Dream’s spread legs, face flushed with nervousness as he smiles down at him. He glances up and freezes when he sees Nightmare blearily watching him back.

At that moment, Killer thrusts against him, granting much needed friction to his clit. Nightmare moans, the noise choked out of him, but he finds himself unable to look away from Cross who watches with eyelights blown wide. Dream starts to turn to follow Cross’s gaze.

“That’s it,” Killer murmurs into Nightmare’s neck. “Look at them. Let them watch you fall apart under my touch. Let them see you helpless, taking what I give you.”

Nightmare pants, arousal making him feel dizzy with need as he squeezes his eye shut, breaking the heated eye contact. Killer breathes against his neck, and his tongue quickly finds purchase there.

“You look so beautiful like this, Night. You’re doing so well.”

“_Hhn—_”

Nightmare is unable to halt the muted gasp at the praise. His face is burning, but the words satisfy some deep, intrinsic part of him that immediately demands more. He wants Killer to lavish him with his sweet words as warmth sweeps over him. Killer bites his neck, and Nightmare whimpers.

“Shit, boss...” The awed tone is Cross’s, and Nightmare feels embarrassment seep into him at the thought of being taken apart like this in front of him when only moments ago, the roles had been reversed.

Killer licks over the bite and makes a noise so self-satisfied, it’s downright filthy. It only makes Nightmare burn that much hotter, his cunt growing wet between his legs. He can feel Cross and Dream’s twin stares on him like physical caresses, roving over his body. Killer ruts against him once more, and Nightmare clenches his teeth together to keep from making a sound.

“Come on, Nightmare,” Killer whispers into his neck, slowly nibbling his way up to Nightmare’s jawline. “You really gonna lock that pretty voice away?”

“It’s okay, brother,” Dream soothes from the side, privy to his riotous emotions like no one else. “You can let go. I’m here.”

Though he’ll never admit it, the reassurance helps.

Dream is positivity all wrapped up into a neat package. He’s got so much love in him to give, Nightmare’s not surprised he’s chosen to share it with multiple partners. He understands it. That doesn’t mean it’s easy for Nightmare to do the same. It took him literal centuries to admit he wanted Dream as more than what they were and to accept his brother’s love when Dream felt the same in return. It then took Dream’s confession of his feelings for Cross to slowly allow himself to imagine including someone else in what they had.

With Killer…

No matter the moments they’ve had together prior to this, stolen away between missions, tiny, barely there brushes with intimacy… no matter the way every weighted look from the skeleton has lingered long after they parted ways, making heat and slick magic coil in his pelvis…

If it weren’t for Dream beside him, it might’ve taken Nightmare another century or two to admit he wanted this either.

He opens his eye, taking in the scene around him. Dream lying next to him, inches away; Cross on top of his brother, a protective stance more than one to pin him down; both their eyelights fixed on him; Killer… his chest broad in his vision, his soul bright and lively…

This is where they’ve all chosen to be. Here. With each other.

Nightmare takes a breath and lets the magic keeping his tendrils summoned dissipate. From the way Cross’s sockets widen, he confirms that he’s never done it in front of him before. The absence of them must be a stark change from his usual appearance. Dream smiles, closely familiar with this gesture of submission.

When Killer pulls back to meet his gaze, confused, Nightmare slants a sideways smirk at him. “If you really want to hear me, then give me something to scream about.”

There’s a momentary pause before Killer laughs, delight in every note of it. His eye glitters with intent. “Understood.”

It’s like flipping a switch.

Killer’s grip on him slips into something just short of bruising, making Nightmare’s throat constrict tight with want. His phalanges flex on Nightmare’s hips, holding them firmly in place as he grinds his cock roughly along his dripping slit, slicking himself up. “Always wondered how pretty you’d look with tears running down your face.”

Every word from Killer is a trap, layered with praise and deadly promise both. Asshole.

“Don’t get ahead of your_—_”

Nightmare chokes on his words, Killer pushing into him all at once. The sudden stretch makes him feel overfull in an instant, heat suffusing every bare inch of his body. It sets his face aflame. Before he can even begin to recover, Killer pulls out and thrusts back into him again with the same rough pace. It tugs a breathless gasp from him.

“Fuck…” Cross whispers, and the reminder that he’s being watched makes Nightmare ridiculously want to throw his hands up over his face to hide himself. He manages to curb the absurd urge, though there’s nothing he can do to stop the flush that spreads bright over his exposed bones as his body warms further.

“You feel so damn good, Night.” Killer’s always been loose with nicknames, but hearing his own spill so effortlessly from him for the second time tonight makes Nightmare’s soul do a complicated twist in his chest. “So fuckin’ perfect around my cock.”

The praise makes his face burn. “Hhn_—ah—_”

“Yeah, you like that, baby?”

“God_, _just_—_ Shut the fuck up_,_” he says, clenching his sockets shut so he doesn’t have to watch the way Killer continues to grin, even as Nightmare’s voice trembles and shakes.

Beside him, Dream tugs Cross back into another kiss. Watching Killer fuck him must’ve gotten them even more heated, because the sounds of them licking into each other are loud and frantic. There’s a shuffling beside him, Dream’s shoulder brushing up against his, a moan pealing from his brother’s throat as the slick sound of Cross’s cock sliding against his cunt turns excitable and quick before suddenly stopping short.

“Dream…” Cross hesitates, and Nightmare can picture clearly how he must look, soft and lost as he watches his brother. “You’re already so spent… if you want, we could still switch? It might be easier on your… o-on _you_, I mean, if you were on on top instead…?”

“What I’ve wanted is you.” Dream is still patient, but desperation has long since sunk in, his breathing sped up and his words pleading. “Please, Cross. I’ve wanted you in me for so long. _Please _fuck me.”

“Oh, he’ll like that.” Killer snickers, and Nightmare almost smiles but doesn’t quite manage it when the next thrust leaves him gasping and clinging tight to the sheets, his cunt pulsing around Killer’s cock.

Sure enough, after a pause, Cross speaks with an almost tangible longing in his voice. “Okay. Okay, yeah, let me… just let me take care of you.”

Cross plans to follow through, if the satisfied moan his brother makes is any indication. Nightmare feels slick drip from him just from overhearing it. Killer swears as Nightmare clenches tightly around him, and he thrusts hard into his soaked cunt, quickening his pace. Nightmare’s unable to stem the noises slipping from him, and his femurs spread wide on the bed, pushing back against Killer. Reaching up, he clings to Killer’s ribs and drags him into another kiss.

It’s faint, but the taste of Dream lingers on his tongue, and Nightmare relishes the way it fills his mouth. Something about Killer having his way with Dream and likely serving him until his brother was a pliant mess pleases him deeply. He wants to reward Killer for treating Dream well. Considering how much Dream seems to have enjoyed it, Nightmare feels it’s only right to show Killer his appreciation.

He breaks the kiss.

“Stop,” he pants, and Killer freezes. His white eyelight attentively fixates on him, and Nightmare gives a small smirk.

“Let me change things up a bit first.”

Shoulders relaxing from their tense state, Killer grins softly, excitement obvious in his expression and swirl of emotions. At Nightmare’s encouragement, he slips out of him. The feeling of slick running from his empty cunt spurs Nightmare to hastily adjust his position, and he twists onto his front, shifting on his hands and knees.

Killer inhales sharply, but the bitten off noise that follows doesn’t come from behind Nightmare. He glances over to where Cross is rubbing his cock along Dream’s folds, his white, blown eyelights riveted on him. An amused grin curls up the side of Nightmare’s face, and he keeps his gaze locked with Cross’s.

“Like this,” he says and feels Killer’s hands return to his hips.

“Yeah,” Killer says, voice strained. “Sure thing, boss.”

The head of his cock pushes against his pussy once more, but this time, Killer slides in slow—torturously slow.

In the mix of the semifluid ink covering Nightmare, sweat beads along his skull. Even in this state, he still holds power over Cross to the point that the other can’t look away, flushed face amorous and wanting. The sight appeases Nightmare, but his smugness is quickly dashed away. He’s forced to break the heated staring match when Killer slides almost all the way out and then fucks into him roughly.

“_Nng_—”

Nightmare grips the bed tightly, bones shaking, but Killer doesn’t continue with the fast pace. He returns to the agonizingly slow glide, gently thrusting into Nightmare’s slick, clenching passage as if he has to treat him like some dainty thing. Nightmare growls at the clear taunt, but Killer doesn’t yield.

Glaring down and off to the side, arms and femurs trembling, he finds dazed, golden eyelights staring up at him. Dream’s expression is pinched, mouth parted as Cross continues to work him over. Nightmare has the swift urge to kiss him, to smooth that furrowed brow as Dream moans into his mouth. He sees his brother come to the same understanding as him.

“C-cross,” Dream begins, and Cross immediately perks up.

“What do you need?” He says, ever the willing provider. Nightmare’s small smile twists back into a grimace as Killer’s thrusts do nothing to give him what he wants. He tries to focus on what Dream is mumbling, but hot breath suddenly brushes against the side of his face.

“Getting desperate, yet?” Killer whispers, and Nightmare clenches his teeth.

“I don’t mind this slow pace. Do you, boss?” Killer laughs breathlessly against him, a hand wandering from his hip and teasingly making its way towards his cunt. “Y’havent said otherwise, keeping that pretty voice of yours quiet.”

The bed sheets shift as Dream sits up, Cross helping him resituate himself, but Nightmare is barely able to acknowledge the change as Killer’s hand stops right above his clit, fingers poised.

“C’mon, Nightmare,” he says, his hips still moving at a snail’s pace as his cock fills him. “Don’t you want to order me around a little?”

He nips at Nightmare’s neck. Nightmare doesn’t have to see Killer’s face to know his smirk is cutting and eager.

Ready to snap out an impatient response, Nightmare opens his mouth, but words fail him as Killer reaches lower and rubs his clit. It adds to the overwhelming sensations, and Killer’s fingers circle with that same torturously slow intent. It’s ridiculous how so little could make him fold when all Killer is doing is teasing him, but Nightmare can sense the admiration in his soul, that profoundly gratified feeling that is just as well wordless praise as is the careful drag of his cock in his cunt. Killer’s taking his time with him, and he’s_ pleased_—he’s so greatly pleased with Nightmare.

The realization leaves him breathless and quaking as his pussy throbs. He closes his eyesocket, trying to think through the wave of heat that threatens to engulf him. He knows that if he gives in, it will be total surrender to Killer, giving him what he wants. The thought doesn’t necessarily repel him.

A cool hand cups his cheek, instantly familiar. He turns his head and presses a kiss to his brother’s palm, thankful for the way it grounds him. When he opens his eye, Dream is braced on his hand and knees before him, Cross kneeling just behind Dream.

Nightmare flushes brighter still at the way he feels both Dream’s and Cross’s eyes rove over his heated face.

“O-ok, Cross,” Dream says, hips shifting. “I’m ready.”

Cross begins to ease into Dream, so careful and sweet as he pushes into his pussy, and Dream whimpers as his sensitive cunt is filled once more. His hand slides off of Nightmare’s cheek and instead lies on top of his fist. Nightmare relinquishes his grip on the sheet and turns his hand, palm facing upward. He grips Dream’s wrist, and Dream holds back just as tightly.

Helplessly, he meets Dream’s eyelights, and his brother smiles bright, encouraging even as it’s strained, but the sheer want in his eyes is what urges Nightmare to voice his need.

“I—” He stifles a groan as Killer doesn’t relent in the tender rubbing of his clit, slick easing the glide of his fingers. With one hand twisting tight into the sheets, the other holding like a lifeline onto his brother, Nightmare resolutely keeps his eyes fastened on Dream.

“_Faster_,” he gasps.

There isn’t a moment’s pause in between. Killer switches from his slow, gentle pace to roughly thrusting into him, a hand keeping a tight hold on his pelvis. Nightmare cries out as Killer pulls him back into his cock, filling him up and pounding into him over and over. The fingers at his clit circle faster.

“That’s it, Night.” The words don’t come from Killer. Dream rubs his thumb along Nightmare’s ulna, his own expression blissful as Cross lovingly rocks into him. “Y-you’re doing so well.”

“Could say the same for you, little light,” Killer adds as Nightmare hums his agreement, glad to be distracted from the vulnerable noise he makes at his brother’s assessment. “You’re taking Cross’s cock so well. You must be exhausted from taking so much, but you’re spreading yourself nice and open for him anyway, aren’t ya?”

It’s a treat to see the way Dream flushes, gold spreading down his neck and over his bare shoulders. It only makes Nightmare want to kiss his brother that much more, and he gives into the urge, nuzzling Dream. His brother is warm where their cheekbones meet, a soft gasp escaping him as Nightmare comes close. It’s a simple matter to tilt his head and capture Dream’s mouth in a kiss, licking easily into him.

“_Fuck_… you seeing this Cross?”

“Yeah.” Cross sounds wrecked, his voice rough.

His next thrust into Dream must go deep, because Dream keens into Nightmare’s mouth, his hand on Nightmare’s wrist gripping even tighter. He drinks his brother down, sucking on his tongue as Cross’s rocking presses Dream further and further into him. It doesn’t help that Killer hasn’t let up in the slightest, still rutting into Nightmare quick and strong. Spit wells in his mouth as Killer grinds inside of him, his clit tingling, and Nightmare swallows desperately, making Dream groan once more.

“God damn,” Killer whispers, leaning over Nightmare and pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder blade. “You’re gorgeous, boss.”

The words knock a whine out of him, lost into Dream’s mouth for a fraction before his brother breaks the kiss and lets Killer hear it. Nightmare pulses around his cock, feeling the thickness of him stretch him out with every push of his hips. Killer swears, phalanges slipping against Nightmare’s clit and threatening to make his knees buckle.

Another kiss is pressed to his mouth, and Nightmare leans unconsciously into it. It’s only when he tastes the faintness of chocolate that his shut eye flutters open and sees Cross leaning over Dream, face in front of him. Killer chooses that moment to fuck harder into his pussy, and Nightmare yelps into Cross’s mouth, flushing hot. Cross kisses him deeper, unbothered, dragging Nightmare’s tongue into his mouth and nipping it.

When he breaks away, there’s heat in his eyes. “Remember, boss. This is what you deserve.”

In any other moment, a callback like that would’ve screamed insolence. As it is, Cross closes his words with a stroke to his cheekbone and another quick peck that leaves Nightmare flustered, his face lighting up with the flush of his magic. Cross notices, if the slow smirk on his face is any indication.

Nightmare looks away, focusing instead on his brother’s trembling form.

It’s obvious that Dream is tired, his body shaking with the effort of holding himself up in this position. Nightmare had already worked him over thoroughly prior to this, and Dream has a frightening amount of stamina to be sure, but between taking Nightmare and his tentacles, as well as going a round with Killer, he’s about hit his limit right here bent over for Cross.

Nightmare presses a kiss to Dream’s forehead before placing his own against it, sharing breaths in the scant space between them, steadying himself.

“If you two are done fooling around,” he starts and is gratified both by how calm his voice is and how quickly his subordinates snap to attention. “My brother and I are in need of your assistance.”

“Aww, boss, fooling around is half the fun.”

“He’s right, Killer,” Cross says, and Nightmare watches as he adjusts his grip on Dream, easing him up so that he’s not sagging under the difficulty of holding up his own weight.

“M’fine,” his brother mumbles, eyelights hazy and lids drooping.

“Shh,” Cross hushes him, thumbing Dream’s hips and rocking into him a few times. The way Dream moans is beautiful, his expression open. The sight of it makes fresh wetness drip from Nightmare’s cunt, Killer groaning as his phalanges slip against the slick. Cross leans into Dream further, fucking up into him hard enough that Nightmare can see the way it makes Dream’s body quiver. “Is that good?”

“Yes,” Dream gasps, “Yes, yes, oh god, Cross, please.”

Cross kisses his way up the back of Dream’s spine, punctuating each one with a push and drag of his hips. His brother’s grip where it remains on Nightmare’s trembles. Dream shakes his head, forehead rubbing against Nightmare’s, the sensation making him shiver. Cross frees a hand to slide between Dream’s legs, and his brother gasps as his phalanges brush along his clit.

“Cross…!”

“I’ve got you, Dream. Shh, you look so perfect like this,” Cross breathes, warm affection in every inch of his gaze. The force of it is overwhelming in his aura, especially when he turns that look on Nightmare, quiet and contemplative. “Both of you do.”

The sincerity makes Nightmare’s soul ache and his cunt throb. That, paired with the way Killer grips his hip viciously tight, edging just sideways of pain, makes him gasp aloud, pushing himself desperately onto Killer’s cock, chasing relief.

“Fuck.” Nightmare grits his teeth, but it’s too late to hold his vocalisation back. Killer takes advantage of his momentary vulnerability, rubbing his clit with renewed vigor and grinding his cock deep inside of him, enough to pull another traitorous moan from Nightmare’s weakening resolve.

“That’s it, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Killer pants, letting his pelvis go and running his fingers along the edge where his cock barely peeks out of Nightmare’s cunt. The touch causes Nightmare to shiver, moreso when Killer edges his thumb along it, slicking it up. “Been waiting a long time to hear the noises you make, boss. Gonna savour every fuckin’ sound.”

“K-killer…” He wants to save face, threaten him maybe, but the words dry up before he can even think them. Instead, he ends up sounding desperate. Enough that when Killer slips his thumb in beside his cock, stretching Nightmare out further, it’s obvious when he chokes back an almost-sob, sockets lining with frustrated tears that he refuses to let spill.

“Shit, Night,” Killer moans, his magic throbbing as Nightmare squeezes tight around him, thrusting back into the jut of cock, “Ohh, you’re good. You feel so goddamn _good_.”

It’s too much for him. His face burns with the praise. His breath hitches, and his chest feels tight. In front of him he can hear his brother gasp and beg as Cross brings him closer and closer to the edge. Cross is whispering to Dream, soothing, soft and reassuring. Killer’s fingers on his clit are anything but.

“You gonna say my name again, baby? You gonna be all sweet for me?”

“S-shut up,” Nightmare gasps, loud as his clit swells under Killer’s skillful touch. “Stop running your mouth and _fuck me_ already.”

The way Killer laughs is a dangerous warning, but there’s nothing Nightmare can do about it when the skeleton leans over his back and noses into the side of neck. “I’m gonna make you scream, Nightmare.”

There’s no time to react.

Killer fucks into him with a force that leaves him breathless, clutching tight to the sheets. The skeleton nips and bites along his shoulder, licking over the marks as he continues to pound his cock into Nightmare’s slick, dripping magic. The sensation overloads him, making Nightmare choke on every breath he tries to take. Still, Killer continues, adding to it, rubbing and pinching his clit in turn until Nightmare’s femurs are shaking, and his arms are aching from the effort to keep himself up.

“Killer—!” The plea is pulled from him, shame flushing hot in his cheekbones. Some distant part of him wonders what Cross must think, seeing him laid bare like this. Dream at least is familiar with it, has talked Nightmare down from his internal struggle with that shared vulnerability. But despite his fears, Killer doesn’t prod at his weakness.

“You wanna come for me, sweetheart? You wanna show me how beautiful you look when you’re shaking apart?”

Nightmare squeezes his eye shut, the pressure peaking, inevitable. “Oh—oh, fuck—”

And then he is, he’s coming for the third time that night, this one dragged out longer than any of the others. He can feel the way his body folds under the force of it, his arms giving out. He hears Killer curse, pulling him back up, steadying him as he ruts into his cunt a few more times before spilling into him, wet and messy. Nightmare can’t manage more than a gratified groan at the feeling, slick dripping down his thighs as Killer pulls out.

Leisurely, Killer releases his tight hold on him, both hands resting on his pelvis. Nightmare’s back arches as his aching arms bend, and he slumps towards the bed. He rests his head against the cool sheets and tries to breathe as the world spins.

He can’t hear the wet smack of Cross fucking into Dream anymore, but the quiet conversation and exhausted murmurs next to him tell Nightmare all he needs to know. Additionally, the twin satiated auras match his and Killer’s, and Nightmare sighs contentedly, relaxing. He’s brought back to his current situation and embarrassing position when Killer rubs his thumbs along his cunt and spreads him open. Nightmare’s face burns anew at the spent magic seeping out of him.

He’s expecting mockery or teasing, but Killer does neither. Instead, Nightmare feels him place a tender kiss onto his coccyx, and he shudders.

“Remind me to make you come on my tongue next time,” Killer says, satisfaction evident in his tone.

Nightmare can’t help the tired chuckle the request pulls from him. “I believe you’ll have no trouble remembering that all on your own.”

“Mm,” Killer hums, an indecipherable noise, which is both as alarming as it is nondescript.

He helps Nightmare tip onto his side, and Nightmare pauses and looks to Dream and Cross. The sight makes his soul swell sharply with the closest thing to happiness that he can feel.

Painted in a mix of gold and purple, Cross and Dream have since changed positions. Now, curled up in Cross’s lap, Dream rests his head against his chest, eyes closed as if he’s on the verge of sleep, and hands wrapped tight around his ribs. Cross stares down at him with a smile. His expression is kind in a way that is surely enhanced by Dream’s positive energy, though Nightmare suspects that most of the love in Cross’s eyelights has always been there, intuitive when it comes to Dream.

His brother mumbles something, and Cross’s eyesockets widen, face flushing. Blinking slowly, Dream looks at him and reaches up, cupping Cross’s cheek and kissing him. Cross lets his sockets flutter closed, and Nightmare looks away to give their tender moment a bit of privacy, hiding a smile.

He begins to turn, and Killer gently helps him onto his back. His face is soft, softer than it’s been in a long while, grin void of any negativity. His soul remains vibrant in that same heart shape. He smiles down at Nightmare, gaze lidded.

“Good?” He asks.

Nightmare rolls his eyelight. “Yes, you smug asshole. I’m fine.”

Killer shakes his head. He strokes the back of his hand down Nightmare’s face, freezing him in place with a single touch. The warmth in it should burn, caustic to his corrupted senses, but much like Dream’s presence by his side, it’s a familiar brush of emotion against his soul.

“No,” Killer whispers. “I want to hear _you _say it.”

It’s impossible to hide the brilliant flush that immediately lights up his face. He’s made all the more aware of it with the way Killer’s cool hand continues to stroke his cheekbone. Nightmare tries to think of a retort, some unfazed remark to show how collected he is.

But then he feels his brother’s energy, a gentle glow that slowly tapers down as Dream’s exhaustion catches up with him. He’s vulnerable in this moment, but he’s also chosen to let go of his barriers because he trusts not just Nightmare, but Cross and Killer as well. He trusts them implicitly because he knows he can without having to worry about any backlash.

That type of trust isn’t shared lightly. Dream is kind but also cautious, strong-willed through it all. And if there’s just one person’s judgment Nightmare trusts, it’s his brother’s.

He unclenches the tight grip he’s held on his wariness and lets go.

“I’m...” He swallows around a dry throat, forcibly maintaining eye contact with Killer despite the urge to look away and hide. He exhales a long breath and tries again.

“I’m... good.”

Such simple words, elementary and supposedly harmless, but they send a violent shudder through him. It’s two words Nightmare hasn’t believed about himself in aeons, and he’s not sure he believes them even now after uttering the sentence.

It’s a start though. A very small start, and it warms him all over as the words play in his mind again and again, longing to ring with truth. He sees Killer grin wide at him, elated and proud, and Nightmare ignores the voice of the corruption that would tell him otherwise.

He smiles back, and Killer leans down to gift him with a sweet kiss. Nightmare uses the opportunity to run his fingers gently over the bruise slowly forming around his neck from the earlier misconception. Killer bites back a hiss, tensing slightly. Careful and slow, Nightmare presses a kiss to the mark, his soul pulsing hard at the soft, wounded noise Killer makes in response to it.

When they pull away, Killer doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Nightmare’s, sharing steadying breaths with him.

“Don’t suppose you’re up for round two?”

Nightmare can’t help himself. A peal of laughter, surprised and fond at the ridiculousness of the question, slips out of him. Killer quickly joins in, resting his head on his shoulder and snickering, both their bodies shaking with it.

“I hope you’re not serious,” Cross says, which makes Killer snort loud, and Nightmare turns his head to muffle his laughter into his hand.

“No, Cross,” he manages, his voice lacking any bite. “I, for one, am in desperate need of a shower—”

“Like fuck you’re taking one now,” Killer protests, petulant. His weight sinks onto him like he intends to trap him there through sheer force.

Nightmare clears his throat pointedly.

“As I was saying,” he says, giving him an unamused look, “I need a shower, as do all the rest of us. However, I’m too fucking tired right now to give a shit, so we’re all going to sleep here.” He glances first at Killer and then tilts his head to look over at Cross.

“That’s an order.”

Abashedly, Cross smiles, cheeks tinting purple, but he nods. His arms tighten around Dream who sleepily rubs his cheek against him. Nightmare’s mouth quirks, and he turns his attention back to Killer who grins wide.

“A chance to sleep in the boss’s bed? Who am I to turn down such an offer?”

Rolling his eyelight, Nightmare braces his hands against the bed and eases up, Killer stepping in to aid him at Nightmare’s wince. Once his aching body is no longer reclined, he and Killer inelegantly clamber over to the head of the bed, Nightmare grabbing a corner of the cover to tug along with him. He holds out his arms towards Cross, and taking some of Dream’s weight, they both gently rest him on the soft sheets. Nightmare adjusts one of his many pillows under Dream’s head, and his brother murmurs what could be construed as sleepy gratitude. He nuzzles into Nightmare’s hand when he runs it down his face, eyesockets fluttering open the smallest amount.

Nightmare settles under the covers next to him, and after a moment’s pause, he sees Cross shift into position on the other side of Dream, pressing against his back protectively. At Nightmare’s back, Killer does much the same, aligning himself as close as possible. He drapes an arm over his waist, and Nightmare makes a quiet, pleased sound that he’s far too exhausted to try and hide.

Dream is barely keeping his eyes open, but the look he gives Nightmare is more than happy. He reaches out and rests his hand in Nightmare’s, a gesture that prompts him to kiss Dream’s brow.

“G’night, brother.”

Nightmare smiles. “Rest well, Dream.”

Dream hums and curls up close against his chest, breaths evening out shortly afterward.

Cross places a kiss on the back of Dream’s head, and his eyes meet Nightmare’s. His eyelights shine, gratitude and joy bright within. Nightmare isn’t often one for heartfelt emotions, but at the happiness in Cross’s gaze, he feels his soul beat faster. A wide smile appears on Cross’s face at something he must see in Nightmare’s expression.

Killer kisses the back of his neck. “Goodnight, boss. Go to sleep now. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

The last of the tension fades from his body as Nightmare closes his eye. With Dream at his side and Killer and Cross embracing them, it’s not hard to follow his brother’s lead. He falls asleep to the thought that there’s comfort and peace in the two new auras warming his and Dream’s bed, and Nightmare knows with confidence that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He looks forward to seeing how the future shapes their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO'S READ THIS FAR!!**
> 
> \---
> 
> **TYPE**: Lyra and I started this as a purely self-indulgent way to multiship our four faves and somehow stumbled upon an OT4 that we cant get enough of. :") To see so many people read and comment on our work when we expected almost no reception for our little fic fills my heart with so much soft joy ;w; I'm honestly beyond grateful! ❤
> 
> **LYRA**: I never envisioned this fic turning into the absolute thrill that it is, and that's purely thanks to Type, who was willing to jump on this crazy adventure with me, and all of you guys who have supported our fic and enjoyed it along with us. It really means a lot to me, and I treasure every single comment that we've received. I hope you'll continue to stick around as we continue down this journey of writing these four characters who have utterly stolen our hearts. ;w;
> 
> \---
> 
> That said, we're not quite done with these four. ;3 We've gotten _invested_ and that means that we'll be turning _a taste of sunshine_ into a fic series! This series will cover prequel stories to the fic, like how Dream and Nightmare first got together, and also sequel adventures as the boys figure out just what role they play in each other's lives and build a true relationship.
> 
> To aid us in this task, we've also set up a little [**ASKBLOG**](https://atosofficial.tumblr.com/) just for fun! :3 Feel free to send in questions for any of the characters and follow along as we play around with this story!
> 
> We're super excited for both the future fics and the blog and we hope to see you all around!
> 
> Thanks again!!


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